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f^-T^ZIzl^ 


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BY  THE   SAME  AUTHOR. 


TWO    YEARS   AGO.    1  voL    12mo. 

SIR    WALTER    RALEIGH    AND  HIS   TIME,  with  otheb  Mis- 

CELLAKEES.      1  YOl.       12mO. 

NEW   MISCELLANIES.     1  toI.    12mo. 

POEMS.     1  vol.     16mo. 

GLAUCUS ;  ob,  The  Wonders  op  the  Shobb.     1  toI.    I6mo. 

THE    HEROES ;  ob,    Gbeek    Faibt    Tales    fob   mt    Childbbn. 
With  niastrations  bj  the  Author.     1  vol.     16mo. 


TICZNOR  AWT)  FIELDS,  Publishers. 


HEEEWARD, 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    ENGLISH 


CHARLES     KINGSLEY, 

AUTHOR  OF   "two  YKABS  AGO,"   ETC. 


BOSTON: 
TICKNOR      AND      FIELDS. 

1866. 


A. 


authob's   edition. 


Ukivbrsity  Press  :  Welch,  BiciBLoW,  ft  66., 
Cambriocs. 


I  9  G  ^^  ^ 

CONT>Er;NTS. 


Paob 

PRELUDE 1 

(JUPTEg 

I.     How  HeBEWAED  was  outlawed,  and  went  NOETH  to  9EEK 

HIS  Fortunes 11 

II.   How  Herewaed  slew  the  Bear 36 

in.    How  Hereward  succored  a  Princess  of  Cornwall  .       .  46 
IV.    How  Hereward  took  Service  with  Ranald,  King  of  Wa- 

teeford 62 

V.    How  Hereward  succored  the  Princess  of  Cornwall  a 

second  Time       .       . 73 

VI.    How  Hereward  was  wrecked  upon  the  Flanders  Shore  80 

Vn.    How  Hereward  went  to  the  War  at  Guisnes    ...  92 
Vni.    How  A  FAIR  Lady  exercised  the  Mechanical  Art  to  win 

Hereward's  Love 97 

IX.    How  Hereward  went  to  the  War  in  Scaldmariland  .  102 

X.    How  Hereward  won  the  Magic  Armor         .        .        .        .  108 

XI.   How  the  Hollanders  took  Hereward  for  a  Magician  119 

Xn.    How  Hereward  turned  Berserk    ......  120 

XIII.  How  Hereward  won  Mare  Swallow        ....  126 

XIV.  How  Hereward  rode  into  Bruges  uke  a  Beggar-Man     .  133" 
XV.    How  Earl  Tosti  Godwinsson  came  to  St.  Omeh    .        .  138 

XVI.    How  Hereward  was  asked  to  slay  an  old  Comrade       .  147  ■ 
XVn.   How  Hereward  took  the  News  from   Stanford  Brioo 

AND  Hastings 154 

■^                 XVin.    How  Earl  Godwin's  Widow  came  to  St.  Omeb      .       .  168 

,j^                  XIX.    How  Hereward  cleared  Bourne  of  Frenchmen         .        .  176 
C                      XX.    How  Hereward  was  made  a  Knight  after  the  Fashion 

OF  THE  English 187 

XXI.   How  Ivo  Taillebois  marched  out  of  Spalding  Town  .  198 

.,                  XXn.   How  Hebeward  sailed  fob  England  oncb  and  fob  all  .  205 


832473 


IV 

xxni. 

XXIV. 
XXV. 

XXVI. 

XXVII. 

XXVIII. 

XXIX. 

XXX. 

XXXI. 

XXXII. 

XXXIII. 

XXXIV. 

XXXV. 

XXXVI. 

XXXVII. 

XXXVIII. 

XXXIX. 

XL.- 

XLI. 

XLII. 

XLIU. 


CONTENTS. 

How  Herkwaed  gathered  an  Army        ....  211 

How  Archbishop  Aldred  died  of  Sorrow.  .  .  226 
How  Hekeward  found  a  wiser  Man  in  England  than 

Himself 230 

How  Hereward  fulfilled  his  Words  to  the  Prior 

of  the  Golden  Borough 239 

How  they  held  a  great  Meeting  in  the  Hall  of  Ely  258 

How  THEY  fought  AT  Aldreth 263 

How  Sir  Dade  brought  News  from  Ely  .  .  .  269 
How  Hereward  played   the   Potter  j  and  how   he 

CHEATED   the  KiNG 275 

How  they  fought  again  at  Aldreth  ....  287 

How  King  William  took  Counsel  of  a  Churchmau     .  293 

How  the  Monks  of  Ely  did  after  their  Kind  .        .  305 

How  Hereward  went  to  the  Greenwoop      .        .        .  314 

How  Abbot  Thorold  was  put  to  Ransom  .       .       .  823 

How  Alftruda  wrote  to  Hereward        ....  833 

How  Hereward  lost  Sword  Brain-biter    .       .       .  852 

How  Hereward  came  in  to  the  King     ....  356 

How   TORFRIDA  confessed  THAT  SHE  HAD  BEEN  INSPIRED 

BY  THE  Devil     .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .  362 

How  Hereward  began  to  get  his  Soul's  Price       .  368 

How  Earl  Waltheof  was  made  a  Saint        .       .       .  879 

How  Hereward  got  the  Rest  op  his  Soul's  Price  .  883 

How  Deeping  Fen  was  drained        .....  891 


HEEEWARD, 

THE    LAST    OF    THE    ENGLISH. 


PRELUDE. 


The  heroic  deeds  of  Highlanders,  both  in  these  islands  and 
elsewhere,  have  been  told  in  verse  and  prose,  and  not  more  often, 
nor  more  loudly,  than  they  deserve.  But  we  must  remember, 
now  and  then,  that  there  have  been  heroes  likewise  in  the  low- 
land and  in  the  fen.  Why,  however,  poets  have  so  seldom  sung 
of  them ;  why  no  historian,  save  Mr.  Motley  in  his  "  Rise  of  the 
Dutch  Republic,"  has  condescended  to  tell  the  tale  of  their  doughty 
deeds,  is  a  question  not  difficult  to  answer. 

In  the  first  place,  they  have  been  fewer  in  number.  The  low- 
lands of  the  world,  being  the  richest  spots,  have  been  generally 
the  soonest  conquered,  the  soonest  civilized,  and  therefore  the 
soonest  taken  out  of  the  sphere  of  romance  and  wild  adventure, 
into  that  of  order  and  law,  hard  work  and  common  sense,  as  well 
as  —  too  often  —  into  the  sphere  of  slavery,  cowardice,  luxury, 
and  ignoble  greed.  The  lowland  populations,  for  the  same  reasons, 
have  been  generally  the  first  to  deteriorate,  though  not  on  account 
of  the  vices  of  civilization.  The  vices  of  iucivilization  are  far 
worse,  and  far  more  destructive  of  human  life ;  and  it  is  just  be- 
cause they  are  so,  that  rude  tribes  deteriorate  physically  less  than 
polished  nations.  In  the  savage  struggle  for  life,  none  but  the 
strongest,  healthiest,  cunningest,  have  a  chance  of  living,  prosper- 
ing, and  propagating  their  race.  In  the  civilized  state,  on  the 
contrary,  the  weakliest  and  the  silliest,  protected  by  law,  religion, 
and  humanity,  have  chance  likewise,  and  transmit  to  their  offspring 
their  own  weakliness  or  silliness.  In  these  islands,  for  instance,  at 
the  time  of  the  Norman  Conquest,  the  average  of  man  was  doubt- 
less superior,  both  in  body  and  mind,  to  the  average  of  man  now, 
simply  because  the  weaklings  could  not  have  lived  at  all ;  and  the 
rich  and  delicate  beauty,  in  which  the  women  of  the  Eastern 
Counties  still  surpass  all  other  races  in^these  isles,  was  doubtless 
far  more  common  in  proportion  to  the  numbers  of  the  population. 
1  A 


2  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

Another  reason  -^  and  one  which  every  Scot  will  understand  — 
why  lowland  heroes  "  carent  vate  sacro,"  is  that  the  lowlands  and 
those  who  live  in  them  are  wanting  in  the  {)oetic  and  romantic 
elements.  Tliere  is  in  the  lowland  none  of  that  background  of 
the  unknown,  fantastic,  magical,  terrible,  perpetually  feeding  curi- 
osity and  wonder,  which  still  remains  in  the  Scottish  highlands ; 
which,  when  it  disappears  from  thence,  will  remain  embalmed  for- 
ever in  the  pages  of  Walter  Scott.  Against  that  half-magical 
background  his  heroes  stand  out  in  vivid  relief;  and  justly  so.  It 
was  not  put  there  by  him  for  stage  purposes ;  it  was  there  as  a 
fact ;  and  the  men  of  whom  he  wrote  were  conscious  of  it,  were 
moulded  by  it,  were  not  ashamed  of  its  influence.  Nature  among 
the  mountains  is  too  fierce,  too  strong,  for  man.  He  cannot  con- 
quer her,  and  she  avves  him.  He  cannot  dig  down  the  cliffs,  or 
chain  the  storm-blasts  ;  and  his  fear  of  them  takes  bodily  shape : 
he  begins  to  people  the  weird  places  of  the  earth  with  weird 
beings,  and  sees  nixes  in  the  dark  linns  as  he  fishes  by  night, 
dwarft  in  the  caves  where  he  digs,  half-trembling,  morsels  of  cop- 
per and  iron  for  his  weapons,  witches  and  demons  on  the  snow- 
'blast  which  overwhelms  his  herd  and  his  hut,  and  in  the  dark 
clouds  which  brood  on  the  untrodden  mountain-peak.  He  lives 
in  fear :  and  yet,  if  he  be  a  valiant-hearted  man,  his  fears  do  him 
little  harm.  They  may  break  out,  at  times,  in  witch-manias,  with 
all  their  horrible  suspicions,  and  thus  breed  cruelty,  which  is  the 
child  of  fear:  but  on  the  whole  they  rather  produce  in  man 
thoughtfulness,  reverence,  a  sense,  confused  yet  precious,  of  the 
boundless  importance  of  the  unseen  world.  His  superstitions  de- 
velop his  imagination;  the  moving  accidents  of  a  wild  liie  call 
out  in  him  sympathy  and  pathos  ;  and  the  mountaineer  becomes 
instinctively  a  poet. 

The  lowlander,  on  the  other  hand,  has  his  own  strength,  his 
own  "  virtues, "  or  manfulnesses,  in  the  good  old  sense  of  the 
word :  but  they  are  not  for  the  most  part  picturesque  or  even 
poetical. 

He  finds  out,  soon  enough  for  his  weal  and  his  bane,  tliat  he  is 
stronger  tlian  Nature:  and  right  tyrannously  and  irreverently  he 
lords  it  over  her,  clearing,  delving,  diking,  building,  without  fear 
or  shame.  He  knows  of  no  natural  force  greater  than  himself, 
save  an  occasional  thunder-storm ;  and  against  that,  as  he  grows 
more  cunning,  he  insures  his  crops.  Why  should  he  reverence 
Nature?  Let  him  use  her,  and  eat.  One  cannot  blame  him. 
Man  was  sent  into  the  world  (so  says  the  Scriptui-e)  to  fill  and 
subdue  the  earth.  But  he  was  sent  into  the  world  for  other  pur 
poses,  which  the  lowlander  is  but  too  apt  to  forget.  With  the 
awe  of  Nature,  the  awe  of  the  unseen  dies  out  in  him.     Meeting 


HEBEWAED,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.        3 

"With  no  visible  superior,  he  is  apt  to  become  not  merely  unpoeti- 
cal  and  irreverent,  but  somewhat  of  a  sensualist  and  an  atheist. 
The  sense  of  the  beautiful  dies  out  in  him  more  and  more.  He 
has  little  or  nothing  around  liim  to  refine  or  lift  up  his  soul ;  and 
unless  he  meet  with  a  religion,  and  with  a  civilization,  whicli  can 
deliver  him,  he  may  sink  into  that  dull  brutality  which  is  too 
common  among  the  lowest  classes  of  the  Engli-h  lowlands  ;  and 
remain  for  generations  gifted  with  the  strength  and  industry  of 
the  ox,  and  with  the  courage  of  the  lion,  and,  alas  !  with  the  intel- 
lect of  the  former,  and  the  self-restraint  of  the  latter. 

But  there  may  be  a  period  in  the  liistory  of  a  lowland  race 
when  they,  too,  become  historic  for  a  while.  There  was  such  a 
period  for  the  men  of  the  Eastern  Counties  ;  for  they  proved  it 
by  their  deeds. 

When  the  men  of  Wessex,  the  once  conquering  race  of  Britain, 
fell  at  Hastings  once  and  for  all,  and  struck  no  second  blow,  then 
the  men  of  the  Danelagh  disdained  to  yield  to  the  Norman  in- 
vader. For  seven  long  years  they  held  their  own,  not  knowing, 
like  true  Englishmen,  when  they  were  beaten ;  and  fought  on 
desperate,  till  there  were  none  left  to  fight.  Their  bones  lay  white 
on  every  island  in  the  fens ;  their  corpses  rotted  on  gallows 
beneath  every  Norman  keep ;  their  few  survivors  crawled  into 
monasteries,  with  eyes  picked  out,  or  hands  and  feet  cut  otf ;  or 
took  to  the  wild  wood  as  strong  outlaws,  like  tlieir  successors  and 
representatives,  Robin  Hood,  Scarlet,  and  John,  Adam  Bell,  and 
Ciym  of  the  Cleugh,  and  WilHam  of  Cloudeslee.  But  they  never 
really  bent  their  necks  to  the  Norman  yoke  ;  they  kept  alive  in 
their  hearts  that  proud  spirit  of  personal  independence,  which 
they  brought  with  them  from  the  moors  of  Denmark  and  the 
dales  of  Norway ;  and  they  kept  alive,  too,  though  in  abeyance 
for  a  while,  those  free  institutions  which  were  without  a  doubt  the 
germs  of  our  British  liberty. 

They  were  a  changed  folk  since  first  they  settled  in  that  Dane- 
lagh ;  —  since  first  in  the  days  of  King  Beorhtric,  "  in  the  year 
787,  three  ships  of  Northmen  came  from  Hajretha  land,  and  the 
King's  reeve  rode  to  the  place,  and  would  have  driven  them  up 
to  the  King's  town,  for  he  knew  not  what  men  they  were :  but 
they  slew  him  there  and  then  "  ;  and  after  the  Saxons  and  Angles 
began  to  find  out  to  their  bitter  bale  what  men  they  were,  those 
fierce  Vikings  out  of  the  dark  northeast. 

But  they  had  long  ceased  to  burn  farms,  sack  convents,  torture 
monks  for  .gold,  and  slay  every  human  being  they  met,  in  mere 
Berserker  lust  of  blood.  No  Barnakill  could  now  earn  his  nick- 
name by  entreating  his  comrades,  as  they  tossed  the  children  on 
their  spear-pomts,  to  "  Na  kill  the  barns."     Gradually  they  had 


4        HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

settled  down  on  the  land,  intermarried  with  the  Angles  and 
Saxons,  and  colonized  all  Ens;land  north  and  east  of  Watling 
Street  (a  rough  line  from  London  to  Chester),  and  the  eastern 
lowlands  of  Scotland  likewise.  Gradually  they  had  deserted  Thor 
and  Odin  for  "the  White  Christ";  had  their  own  priests  and 
bishops,  and  built  their  own  minsters.  The  convents  which  the 
fathers  had  destroyed,  the  sons,  or  at  least  the  grandsons,  rebuilt; 
and  often,  casting  away  sword  and  axe,  they  entered  them  as 
monks  themselves ;  and  Peterborough,  Ely,  and  above  all  Crow- 
land,  destroyed  by  them  in  Alfred's  time  with  a  horrible  destruc- 
tion, had  become  their  holy  places,  where  they  decked  the  altars 
with  gold  and  jewels,  with  silks  from  the  far  East,  and  furs  from 
the  far  North ;  and  where,  as  in  sacred  fortresses,  they,  and  the 
liberty  of  England  with  them,  made  their  last  unavailing  stand. 

For  a  while  they  had  been  lords  of  all  England.  The  Anglo- 
Saxon  race  was  wearing  out.  The  men  of  Wessex,  prifest-ridden, 
and  enslaved  by  their  own  aristocracy,  quailed  before  the  free 
Norsemen,  among  whom  was  not  a  single  serf.  The  God-de- 
scended line  of  Cerdic  and  Alfred  was  worn  out.  Vain,  incapable, 
proHigate  kings,  the  tools  of  such  prelates  as  Odo  and  Dunstan, 
were  no  match  for  such  wild  heroes  as  Thorkill  the  tall,  or  Olaf 
Trygvasson,  or  Swend  Forkbeard.  The  Danes  had  gradually 
colonized,  not  only  their  own  Danelagh  and  Northurabria,  but 
great  part  of  Wessex.  •  Vast  sums  of  Danegelt  were  yearly 
sent  out  of  the  country  to  bny  off  the  fresh  invasions  which  were 
perpetually  threatened.  Then  Ethelred  the  Unready,  Ethelred 
Evil-counsel,  advised  himself  to  fulfil  his  name,  and  the  curse 
which  Dunstan  had  pronounced  against  him  at  the  baptismal  font. 
By  his  counsel  the  men  of  Wessex  rose  against  the  unsuspecting 
Danes ;  and  on  St.  Brice's  eve,  A.  D.  1002,  murdered  them  all 
with  tortures,  man,  woman,  and  child.  It  may  be  that  they  only 
did  to  the  children  as  the  fathers  had  done  to  them :  but  the  deed 
was  "  worse  than  a  crime ;  it  was  a  mistake."  The  Danes  of  the 
Danelagh  and  of  Northumbria,  their  brothers  of  Denmark  and 
Norway,  the  Orkneys  and  the  east  coast  of  Ireland,  remained 
unharmed.  A  mighty  host  of  Vikings  poured  from  thence  into 
England  the  very  next  year,  under  Swend  Forkbeard  and  the 
great  Canute  ;  and  after  thirteen  fearful  campaigns  came  the  great 
battle  of  Assingdown  in  Essex,  —  where  "  Canute  had  the  victory; 
and  all  the  English  nation  fought  against  him  ;  and  all  the  nobility 
of  the  English  race  was  there  destroyed." 

That  same  year  saw  the  mysterious  death  of  Edmund  Iron- 
side, the  last  man  of  Cerdic's  race  worthy  of  the  name.  For  the 
next  twenty-five  years,  Danish  kings  ruled  from  the  Forth  to 
the  Land's  End. 


HKREWARD,   THE   LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  5 

A  noble  figure  he  was,  that  great  and  wise  Canute,  the  friend 
of  the  famous  Godiva,  and  Leofric,  Godiva's  husband,  and  Si- 
ward  Biorn,  the  conqueror  of  Macbeth  :  trying  to  expiate  by  jus- 
tice and  mercy  the  dark  deeds  of  his  bloodstained  youth ;  trying 
(and  not  in  vain)  to  blend  the  two  races  over  which  he  ruled ; 
rebuilding  the  churches  and  monasteries  which  his  father  liad  de- 
stroyed ;  bringing  back  in  state  to  Canterbury  the  body  of  Arch- 
bishop Elphege,  —  not  unjustly  called  by  the  Saxons  martyr  and 
saint,  —  whom  Tall  Thorkill's  men  had  murdered  with  beef  bones 
and  ox-skulls,  because  he  would  not  give  up  to  them  the  money 
destined  for  God's  poor ;  rebuking,  as  evei'y  child  has  heard,  his 
housecarles'  flattery  by  setting  his  chair  on  the  brink  of  the  ris- 
ing tide ;  and  then  laying  his  golden  crown,  in  token  of  humility, 
on  the  high  altar  of  Winchester,  never  to  wear  it  more.  In 
^Winchester  lie  his  bones  unto  this  day,  or  what  of  them  the  civil 
wars  have  left :  and  by  him  lie  the  bones  of  his  son  Hardicanute, 
in  whom,  as  in  his  half-brother  Harold  Harefoot  before  him,  the 
Danish  power  fell  to  swift  decay,  by  insolence  and  drink  and 
civil  war ;  and  with  the  Danish  power  England  fell  to  pieces 
like\vi?e, 

Canute  liad  divided  England  into  four  great  earldoms,  each 
ruled,  under  him,  by  a  jarl,  or  earl,  a  Danish,  not  a  Saxon  title. 

At  his  death  in  1036,  the  earldoms  of  Northurabria  and  East 
Anglia  —  the  more  strictly  Danish  parts  —  were  held  by  a  true 
Danish  hero,  Siward  Biorn,  alias  Digre  the  Stout,  conqueror  of 
Macbeth,  and  son  of  the  fairy  bear;  proving  his  descent,  men 
said,  by  his  pointed  and  hairy  ears. 

Mercia,  the  great  central  plateau  of  England,  was  held  by  Earl 
Leofric,  husband  of  the  famous  Lady  Godiva. 

Wessex,  which  Canute  had  at  first  kept  in  his  awn  hands,  had 
passed  into  those  of  the  furious  Earl  Godwin,  the  then  ablest 
man  in  England.  Possessed  of  boundless  tact  and  cunning, 
gifted  with  an  eloquence  which  seems,  from  the  accounts  remain- 
ing of  it,  to  have  been  rather  that  of  a  Greek  than  an  English- 
man ;  himself  of  high  —  perhaps  of  royal  —  Sussex  blood  (for  the 
story  of  his  low  birth  seems  a  mere  fable  of  his  French  enemies), 
and  married  first  to  Canute's  sister,  and  then  to  his  niece,  he  was 
fitted,  alike  by  fortunes  and  by  talents,  to  be  the  king-maker 
which  he  became. 

Such  a  system  may  have  worked  well  as  long  as  the  brain  of 
a  hero  was  there  to  overlook  it  all.  But  when  that  brain  was 
turned  to  dust,  the  history  of  P^ngland  became,  till  the  Norman 
Conquest,  little  more  than  the  history  of  the  rivalries  of  the  two 
great  houses  of  Godwin  and  Leofric. 

Leofric  had  the  first  success  in   king-making.     He,  though 


6  HEEEWARD,   THE   LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH. 

bearing  a  Saxon  name,  was  the  champion  o^  the  Danish  party, 
and  of  Canute's  son,  or  reputed  son,  Harola  Harefoot;  and  he 
succeeded,  by  the  help  of  the  "  Thanes  north  of  Thames,"  and  the 
"  Hthsmen  of  London,"  which  city  was  more  than  half  Danish  in 
those  days,  in  setting  his  puppet  on  the  throne.  But  the  blood 
of  Canute  had  exhausted  itself.  Within  seven  years  Harold 
Harefoot  and  Hardicanute,  who  succeeded  him,  had  died  as 
foully  as  they  lived ;    and  Godwin's  turn  had  come. 

He,  though  married  to  a  Danish  princess,  and  acknowledging 
his  Danish  connection  by  the  Norse  names  which  were  borne  by 
his  three  most  famous  sons,  Harold,  Sweyn,  and  Tostig,  consli 
tuted  himself  the  champion  of  the  men  of  Wessex  and  the  house 
of  Cerdic.  He  had  murdered,  or  at  least  caused  to  be  murdered, 
horribly,  Alfred  the  Etheling,  King  Ethelred's  son  and  heir- 
apparent,  when  it  seemed  his  interest  to  support  the  claims  of 
Hardicanute  against  Harefoot ;  he  now  found  little  difRculty  in 
persuading  his  victim's  younger  brother  to  come  to  England,  and 
become  at  once  his  king,  his  son-in-law  and  his  puppet. 

Edward  the  Confessor,  if  we  are  to  believe  the  monks  whom 
he  pampered,  was  naught  but  virtue  and  piety,  meekness  and 
magnanimity,  —  a  model  ruler  of  men.  Such  a  model  ruler  he 
was,  doubtless,  as  monks  would  be  glad  to  see  on  every  throne ; 
because  while  he  rules  his  subjects,  they  rule  him.  No  wonder, 
therefore,  that  (according  to  William  of  Mahnesbury)  the  happi- 
ness of  his  times  (famed  as  he  was  both  for  miracles  and  the 
spirit  of  prophecy)  "  was  revealed  in  a  dream  to  Brithwin,  Bishop 
of  Wilton,  who  made  it  public " ;  who,  meditating,  in  King  Ca- 
nute's time,  on  "  the  near  extinction  of  the  royal  race  of  the  Eng- 
lish," was  "  rapt  up  on  high,  and  saw  St.  Peter  consecrating 
Edward  king.  His  chaste  life  also  was  pointed  out,  and  the 
exact  period  of  his  reign  (twenty-four  years)  determined ;  and, 
when  inquiring  about  his  posterity,  it  was  answered,  '  The  king- 
dom of  the  English  belongs  to  God.  _  After  you.  He  will  provitle 
a  king  according  to  his  pleasure.' "  But  those  who  will  look  at 
the  facts  will  see  in  the  holy  Confessor's  character  little  but  what 
is  pitiable,  and  in  his  reign  little  but  what  is  tragical. 

Civil  wars,  invasions,  outlawry  of  Godwin  and  his  sons  by  the 
Danish  party ;  then  of  Alfgar,  Leofric's  son,  by  the  Saxon  party  ; 
the  outlaws  on  either  side  attacking  and  plundering  the  English 
shores  by  the  help  of  Norsemen,  Welshmen,  Irish,  and  Danes, — 
any  mercenaries  who  could  be  got  together;  and  then, —  "In  the 
same  year  Bishop  Aldred  consecrated  the  minster  at  Glouces- 
ter to  the  glory  of  God  and  of  St.  Peter,  and  then  went  to  Jeru- 
salem with  such  splendor  as  no  man  had  displayed  before  him  " ; 
and  60  forth.     The  sum  and  substance  of  what  was  done  iu  those 


HEBEWAED,  THE  LAST   OP   TEE  ENGLISH.  7 

"  happy  times  "  may  be  well  described  in  the  words  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  chronicler  for  the  year  1058.  "  This  year  Alfgar  the  earl 
was  banished ;  but  he  came  in  again  with  violence,  through  aid 
of  Griffin  (the  king  of  North  Wales,  his  brother-in-law).  And 
this  year  came  a  fleet  from  Norway.  It  is  tedious  to  tell  how 
these  matters  went."  These  were  the  normal  phenomena  of  a 
reign  which  seemed,  to  the  eyes  of  monks,  a  holy  and  a  happy 
one ;  because  the  king  refused,  whether  from  spite  or  supersti- 
tion, to  have  an  heir  to  the  house  of  Cerdic,  and  spent  his  time  be- 
tween prayer,  hunting,  the  seeing  of  fancied  visions,  the  uttering 
of  fancied  prophecies,  and  the  performance  of  fancied  miracles. 

But  there  were  excuses  for  him.  An  Englishman  only  in 
name,  — a  Norman,  not  only  of  his  mother's  descent  (she  was  aunt 
of  William  the  Conqueror),  but  by  his  early  education  on  the 
Continent,  —  he  loved  the  Norman  better  than  the  Englishman  ; 
Norman  knights  and  clerks  filled  his  court,  and  often  the  high 
dignities  of  his  provinces,  and  returned  as  often  as  expelled ;  the 
Norman-French  language  became  fashionable  ;  Norman  customs 
and  manners  the  signs  of  civilization ;  and  thus  all  was  prepar- 
ing steadily  for  the  great  catastrophe,  by  which,  within  a  year  of 
Edward's  death,  the  Norman  became  master  of  the  land. 

Perhaps  it  ought  to  have  been  so.  Perhaps  by  no  other 
method  could  England,  and,  with  England,  Scotland,  and  in  due 
time  Ireland,  have  become  partakers  of  that  classic  civilization 
and  learning,  the  fount  whereof,  for  good  and  for  evil,  was  Rome 
and  the  Pope  of  Rome :  but  the  method  was  at  least  wicked ;  the 
actors  in  it  tyrannous,  brutal,  treacherous,  hypocritical ;  and  the 
conquest  of  England  by  William  will  remain  to  the  end  of  time 
a  mighty  crime,  abetted  —  one  may  almost  say  made  possible,  as 
too  many  such  crimes  have  been  before  and  since  —  by  the  in- 
triguing ambition  of  the  Pope  of  Rome. 

Against  that  tyranny  the  free  men  of  the  Danelagh  and  of 
Northumbria  rose.  If  Edward,  the  descendant  of  Cerdic,  had 
been  little  to  them,  William,  the  descendant  of  Rollo,  was  still 
less.  That  French-speaking  knights  should  expel  them  from 
their  homes,  French-chanting  monks  from  their  convents,  be- 
cause Edward  had  promised  the  crown  of  England  to  William, 
his  foreign  cousin,  or  because  Harold  Godwinsson  of  Wessex  had 
sworn  on  the  relics  of  all  the  saints  to  be  William's  man,  was 
contrary  to  their  common-sense  of  right  and  reason. 

So  they  rose  and  fought:  too  late,  it  may  be,  and  without  unity 
or  purpose ;  and  they  were  worsted  by  an  enemy  who  had  both 
unity  and  purpose ;  whom  superstition,  greed,  and  feudal  disci- 
pline kept  together,  at  least  in  England,  in  one  compact  body  of 
unscrupulous  and»  terrible  confederates. 


8  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

But  theirs  was  a  land  worth  fighting  for,  —  a  good  land  and 
large :  from  Humber  mouth  inland  to  the  Trent  and  merry  Slier- 
wood,  across  to  Chester  and  the  Dee,  round  by  Leicester  and  the 
five  burghs  of  the  Danes ;  eastward  again  to  Huntingdon  and 
Cambridge  (then  a  poor  village  on  the  site  of  an  old  Roman 
town)  ;  and  then  northward  again  into  the  wide  fens,  the  land  of 
the  Girvii  and  the  Eormingas,  "the  children  of  the  peat-bog," 
where  the  great  central  plateau  of  England  slides  into  the  sea,  to 
form,  from  the  rain  and  river  washings  of  eight  shires,  lowlands 
of  a  fertility  inexhaustible,  because  ever-growing  to  this  day. 

They  have  a  beauty  of  their  own,  those  great  fens,  even  now, 
when  they  are  diked  and  drained,  tilled  and  fenced,  —  a  beauty 
as  of  the  sea,  of  boundless  expanse  and  freedom.  Much  more 
had  they  that  beauty  eight  hundred  years  ago,  when  they  were 
still,  for  the  most  part,  as  God  had  made  them,  or  rather  was 
making  them  even  then.  The  low  rolling  uplands  were  clothed 
in  primeval  forest :  oak  and  ash,  beech  and  elm,  with  here  and 
there,  pei'haps,  a  group  of  ancient  pines,  ragged  and  decayed,  and 
fast  dying  out  in  England  even  then ;  tholigh  lingering  still  in 
the  forests  of  the  Scotch  highlands. 

Between  the  forests  were  open  wolds,  dotted  with  white  sheep 
and  golden  gorse ;  rolling  plains  of  rich  though  ragged  turf, 
whether  cleared  by  the  hand  of  man  or  by  the  wild  fires  which 
often  swept  over  the  hills.  And  between  the  wood  and  the  wold 
stood  many  a  Danish  "  town,"  with  its  clusters  of  low  sti'aggling 
buildings  round  the  holder's  house,  stone  or  mud  below,  and 
wood  above  ;  its  high  dikes  round  tiny  fields  ;  its  flocks  of  sheep 
ranging  on  the  wold ;  its  herds  of  swine  in  the  forest ;  and  below, 
a  more  precious  possession  still,  —  its  herds  of  mares  and  colts, 
which  fed  with  the  cattle  in  the  rich  grass-fen. 

For  always,  from  the  foot  of  the  wolds,  the  green  flat  stretched 
away,  illimitable,  to  an  horizon  where,  from  the  roundness  of  the 
earth,  the  distant  trees  and  islands  were  hulled  down  like  ships 
at  sea.  The  firm  horse-fen  lay,  bright  green,  along  the  foot  of 
the  wold  ;  beyond  it,  the  browner  peat,  or  deep  fen ;  and  among 
it,  dark  velvet  alder  beds,  long  lines  of  reed-rond,  emerald  in 
spring,  and  golden  under  the  autumn  sun  ;  shining  river-reachp:^ ; 
broad  meres  dotted  with  a  million  fowl,  while  the  cattle  waded 
along  their  edges  after  the  rich  sedge-grass,  or  wallowed  in  ihe 
mire  through  the  hot  summer's  day.  Here  and  there,  too,  upon 
the  fir  horizon,  rose  a  tall  line  of  ashen  trees,  marking  some 
island  of  firm  rich  soil.  Here  and  there,  too,  as  at  Ramsey  and 
Ci'owland,  the  huge  ashes  had  disappeared  before  the  axes  of  the 
monks,  and  a  minster  tower  rose  over  the  fen,  amid  orchards, 
gardejus,  cornfields,  pastures,   with  here  and   there  a  tree  left 


HEREWARD,   THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH.  9 

standing  for  shade,  —  "Painted  witli  flowers  in  the  spring,"  with 
"  pleasant  shores  embosomed  in  still  lakes,"  as  the  monk-chroni- 
cler of  Ramsey  has  it,  those  islands  seemed  to  such  as  the  monk 
terrestrial  paradises. 

Overhead  the  arch  of  heaven  spread  more  ample  than  else- 
where, as  over  the  open  sea ;  and  that  vastness  gave,  and  still 
gives,  such  "  effects  "  of  cloudland,  of  sunrise,  and  sunset,  as  can 
be  seen  nowhere  else  within  these  isles.  They  might  well  have 
been  star-worshippers,  those  Girvii,  had  their  sky  been  as  clear 
as  that  of  the  East:  but  they  were  like  to  have  worshipped  the 
clouds  rather  than  the  stars,  according  to  the  too  universal  law, 
that  mankind  worship  the  powers  which  do  them  harm,  rather 
than  the  powers  which  do  them  good. 

And  therefoi'e  the.  Danelagh  men,  who  feared  not  mortal  sword 
or  axe,  feared  witches,  ghosts,  Pucks,  Will-o'-the-Wisps,  were- 
wolves, spirits  of  the  wells  and  of  the  trees,  and  all  dark,  capricious, 
and  harmful  beings  whom  their  fancy  conjured  up  out  of  the  wild, 
wet,  and  unwholesome  marslies,  or  the  dark  wolf-haunted  woods. 
For  that  fair  land,  like  all  things  on  earth,  had  its  darker  aspect. 
The  foul  exhalations  of  autumn  called  up  fever  and  ague,  crippling 
and  enervating,  and  tempting,  almost  compelling,  to  that  wild  and 
desperate  drinking  which  was  the  Scandinavian's  special  sin. 
Dark  and  sad  were  those  short  autumn  days,  when  all  the  dis- 
tances were  shut  off,  and  the  air  choked  with  foul  brown  fog  and 
drenching  rains  from  off  the  eastern  sea;  and  pleasant  the  burst- 
ing forth  of  the  keen  northeast  wind,  with  all  its  whirling  snow- 
storms. For  though  it  sent  men  hurrying  out  into  the  storm,  to 
drive  the  cattle  in  from  the  fen,  and  lift  the  sheep  out  of  the  snow- 
wreaths,  and  now  and  then  never  to  return,  lost  in  mist  and  mire, 
in  ice  and  snow;  —  yet  all  knew  that  after  the  snow  would  come 
the  keen  frost  and  the  bright  sun  and  cloudless  blue  sky,  and  tlie 
fenman's  yearly  holiday,  when,  work  being  impossible,  all  gave 
themselves  up  to  play,  and  swarmed  upon  the  ice  on  skates  and 
sledges,  and  ran  races,  township  against  township,  or  visited  old 
friends  full  forty  miles  away  ;  and  met  everywhere  faces  as  bright 
and  ruddy  as  their  own,  cheered  by  the  keen  wine  of  that  dry 
and  bracing  frost. 

Such  was  the  Fenland  ;  hard,  yet  cheerful ;  rearing  a  race  of 
hard  and  cheerful  men ;  showing  their  power  in  old  times  in 
valiant  fighting,  and  for  many  a  century  since  in  that  valiant 
industry  which  has  drained  and  embanked  the  land  of  tiie  Girvii, 
till  it  has  become  a  very  "  Garden  of  the  Lord."  And  the  Scots- 
man who  may  look  from  the  promontory  of  Peterborough,  the 
"golden  borough"  of  old  time;  or  from  the  tower  of  Crowland, 
while  Hereward  and  Torfrida  sleep  in  the  ruined  nave  beneath  ; 
1* 


10       HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

or  from  the  heights  of  that  Isle  of  Ely  which  was  so  long  "  the 
camp  of  refuge  "  for  English  freedom  ;  over  the  labyrinth  of  dikes 
and  lodes,  the  squares  of  rich  corn  and  verdure,  —  will  confess 
that  the  lowland,  as  well  as  the  highland,  can  at  times  breed 
gallant  men.* 

*  The  story  of  Hereward  (often  sung  by  minstrels  and  old-wives  in  succeed- 
ing generations)  may  be  found  in  the  "  Metrical  Chronicle  of  Geoffrey  Gaimar," 
and  in  the  prose  "  Life  of  Hereward  "  (paraphrased  from  that  written  by  Leofnc, 
his  house-priest),  and  in  the  valuable  fragment  "  Of  the  family  of  Hereward." 
These  have  all  three  been  edited  by  Mr.  T.  Wright.  The  account  of  Hereward 
in  Ingulf  seems  taken,  and  that  carelessh',  from  the  same  source  as  the  Latin 
prose,  "  De  Gestis  Herewardi."  A  few  curious  details  may  be  found  in  Peter  of 
Blois's  continuation  of  Lignlf ;  and  more,  concerning  the  sack  of  Peterborough, 
in  the  Anglo-Saxon  Chronicle.  I  have  followed  the  contemporary  authorities  as 
closely  as  I  could,  introducing  little  but  what  was  necessary  to  reconcile  dis- 
crepancies, or  to  illustrate  the  history,  manners,  and  sentiments  of  the  time.  — 


CHAPTER    I. 


HOW  HEREWARD  WAS  OUTLAWED,  AND  WENT  NORTH  TO   SEEK 
HIS    FORTUNES. 

Known  to  all  is  Lady  Godiva,  the  most  beautiful  as  well  as 
the  most  saintly  woman  of  her  day ;  who,  ''  all  her  life,  kept  at 
her  own  expense  thirteen  poor  folk  wherever  she  went ;  who, 
throughout  Lent,  watched  in  the  church  at  triple  matins,  namely, 
one  for  the  Trinity,  one  for  the  Cross,  and  one  for  St.  Mary ;  who 
every  day  read  the  Psalter  through,  and  so  persevered  in  good 
and  holy  works  to  her  life's  end," —  the  "  devoted  friend  of  St. 
Mary,  ever  a  virgin,"  who  enriched  monasteries  without  number, 
—  Leominster,  Wenlock,  Chestei',  St.  Mary's  Stow  by  Lincoln, 
Worcester,  Evesham ;  and  who,  above  all,  founded  the  great 
monastery  in  that  town  of  Coventry,  which  has  made  her  name 
immortal  for  another  and  a  far  nobler  deed ;  and  enriched  it  so 
much  "  that  no  monastery  in  England  possessed  such  abundance 
of  gold,  silver,  jewels,  and  precious  stones,"  beside  that  most 
precious  jewel  of  all,  the  arm  of  St.  Augustine,  which  not  Lady 
Godiva,  but  her  friend,  Archbishop  Ethelnoth,  presented  to  Cov- 
entry, "having  bought  it  at  Pavia  for  a  hundred  talents  of  silver 
and  a  talent  of  gold."* 

Less  known,  save  to  students,  is  her  husband,  Leofric  the  great 
Earl  of  Mercia  and  Chester,  whose  bones  lie  by  those  of  Godiva 
in  that  same  minster  of  Coventry ;  how  "  his  counsel  was  as  if 
one  had  opened  the  Divine  oracles " ;  very  "  wise,"  says  the 
Anglo-Saxon  Chronicle,  "  for  God  and  for  the  world,  which  was  a 
blessing  to  all  this  nation  "  ;  the  greatest  man,  save  his  still  greater 
rival',  Earl  Godwin,  in  Edward  the  Confessor's  court. 

Less  known,  again,  are  the  children  of  that  illustrious  pair: 
Algar,  or  Alfgar,  Earl  of  Mercia  after  his  father,  who  died,  after 
a  short  and  stormy  life,  leaving  two  sons,  Edwin  and  Morcar,  the 
fair  and  hapless  young  earls,  always  spoken  of  together,  as  if  they 
had  been  twins  ;  a  daughter,  Aldytha,  or  Elfgiva,  married  first 
(according  to  some)  to  Griffin,  King  of  North  Wales,  and  certainly 
afterwards  to  Harold,  King  of  England ;  and  another,  Lucia  (as 

•  William  of  Malmesbary. 


12       HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

the  Normans  at  least  called  her),  whose  fate  was,  if    possible, 
more  sad  than  that  of  her  brothers. 

Their  second  son  was  Hereward,  whose  history  this  tale  sets 
forth ;  their  third  and  youngest,  a  boy  whose  name  is  unknown. 

They  had,  probably,  another  daughter  beside ;  married,  it  may 
be,  to  some  son  of  Leofric's  stanch  friend  old  Siward  Biorn,  the 
Viking  Earl  of  Northumberland,  and  conqueror  of  Macbeth  ;  and 
the  mother,  may  be,  of  the  two  young  Siwards,  the  "  white  "  and 
the  "  red,"  who  figure  in  chronicle  and  legend  as  the  nephews  of 
Hereward.     But  this  pedigree  is  little  more  than  a  x?onjecture. 

Be  these  things  as  they  may,  Godiva  was  the  greatest  lady  in 
England,  save  two :  Edith,  Harold's  sister,  the  nominal  wife  of 
Edward  the  Confessor ;  and  Githa,  or  Gyda,  as  her  own  Danes 
called  her,  Harold's  mother,  niece  of  Canute  the  Great.  Great 
was  Godiva ;  and  might  have  been  proud  enough,  had  she  been 
inclined  to  that  pleasant  sin.  And  even  then  (for  there  is  a 
skeleton,  they  say,  in  every  house)  she  carried  that  about  her 
which  might  well  keep  her  humble  ;  namely,  shame  at  the  mis- 
conduct of  Hereward,  her  son. 

Her  favorite  residence,  among  the  many  manors  and  "  villas," 
or  farms  which  Leofric  possessed,  was  neither  the  stately  hall  at 
Loughton  by  Bridgenorth,  nor  the  statelier  castle  of  Warwick, 
but  the  house  of  Bourne  in  South  Lincolnshire,  between  the  great 
woods  of  the  Bruneswald  and  the  great  level  of  the  fens.  It  may 
have  been  her  own  paternal  dowry,  and  have  come  down  to  her 
in  right  of  her  Danish  ancestors,  and  that  great  and  "  magnificent  " 
Jarl  Oslac,  from  whom  she  derived  her  all-but-royal  blood.  This 
is  certain,  that  Leofric,  her  husband,  went  in  East  Anglia  by  the 
name  of  Leofric,  Lord  of  Bourne  ;  that,  as  Domesday  Book  testi- 
fies, his  son  Alfgar,  and  his  grandson  Morcar,  held  large  lands 
there  and  thereabout.  Alfgar's  name,  indeed,  still  lives  in  the 
village  of  Algar-Kirk ;  and  Lady  Godiva,  and  Algar  after  her, 
enriched  with  great  gifts  Crowland,  the  island  sanctuary,  and 
Peterborough,  where  Brand,  either  her  brother  or  Leofric's,  was  a 
monk,  and  in  due  time  an  abbot. 

The  house  of  Bourne,  as  far  as  it  can  be  reconstructed  by 
imagination,  was  altogether  unlike  one  of  the  tall  and  gloomy 
Norman  castles  which  twenty  years  later  I'eared  their  evil  donjons 
over  England.  It  was  much  more  like  a  house  in  a  Chinese 
painting ;  an  irregular  group  of  low  buildings,  almost  all  of  one 
story,  stone  below  and  timber  above,  with  high-peaked  roofs,  —  at 
least  in  the  more  Danish  country,  —  affording  a  separate  room,  or 
rather  house,  for  each  different  need  of  the  family.  Such  a  one 
may  be  seen  in  the  illuminations  of  the  century.  In  the  centre  of 
the  building  is  the  hall,  with  door  or  doors  opening  out  into  the 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.        13 

court ;  and  sitting  thereat,  at  the  top  of  a  flight  of  steps,  the  lord 
and  lady,  dealing  clothes  to  the  naked  and  bread  to  the  hungry. 
On  one  side  of  the  hall  is  a  chapel ;  by  it  a  large  room  or  "  bower  " 
for  the  ladies  ;  behind  the  hall  a  round  tower,  seemingly  the  strong 
place  of  the  whole  house  ;  on  the  other  side  a  kitchen  ;  and  stuck 
on  to  bower,  kitchen,  and  every  other  principal  building,  lean-to 
after  lean-to,  the  uses  of  which  it  is  impossible  now  to  discover. 
The  house  had  grown  with  the  wants  of  the  family,  —  as  many 
goodold  English  houses  have  done  to  this  day.  Round  it  would 
be  scattered  barns  and  stables,  in  which  grooms  and  herdsmen 
slept  side  by  side  with  their  own  horses  and  cattle ;  and  outside 
all,  the  "  yard,"  "  garth,"  or  garden-fence,  high  earth-bank  with 
palisades  on  top,  which  formed  a  strong  defence  in  time  of  war. 
Such  was  most  probably  the  "  villa,"  "  ton,"  or  "  town  "  of  Earl 
Leofric,  the  Lord  of  Bourne,  the  favorite  residence  of  Godiva,  — 
once  most  beautiful,  and  still  most  holy,  according  to  the  holiness 
of  those  old  times. 

Now  on  a  day  —  about  the  year  1054  —  while  Earl  Si  ward 
was  helping  to  bring  Birnam  wood  to  Dunsinane,  to  avenge  his 
murdered  brother-in-law.  Lady  Godiva  sat,  not  at  her  hall  door, 
dealing  food  and  clothing  to  her  thirteen  poor  folk,  but  in  her 
bower,  with  her  youngest  son,  a  two-years'  boy,  at  her  knee.  She 
was  listening  with  a  face  of  shame  and  horror  to  the  complaint  of 
Herluin,  Steward  of  Peterborough,  who  had  fallen  in  that  after- 
noon with  Hereward  and  his  crew  of  "  housecarles." 

To  keep  a  following  of  stout  housecarles,  or  men-at-arms,  was 
the  pride  as  well  as  the  duty  of  an  Anglo-Danish  Lord,  as  it  was, 
till  lately,  of  a  Scoto-Danish  Highland  Laird.  And  Hereward, 
in  imitation  of  his  father  and  his  elder  brother,  must  needs  have 
his  following  from  the  time  he  was. but  fifteen  years  old.  All  the 
unruly  youths  of  the  neighborhood,  sons  of  free  "  holders,"  who 
owed  some  sort  of  military  service  to  Earl  Leofric ;  Geri  his 
cousin ;  Winter,  whom  he  called  his  brother-in-arms ;  the  Wul- 
frics,  the  Wulfards,  the  Azers,  and  many  another  wild  blade,  had 
banded  themselves  round  a  young  nobleman  more  unruly  than 
themselves.  Their  names  were  already  a  terror  to  all  decent  folk, 
at  wakes  and  fairs,  alehouses  and  village  sports.  They  atoned, 
be  it  remembered,  for  their  early  sins  by  making  those  names  in 
after  years  a  terror  to  the  invaders  of  their  native  land:  but  as 
yet  their  prowess  was  limited  to  drunken  brawls  and  faction- 
fights  ;  to  upsetting  old  women  at  their  work,  levying  black-mail 
from  quiet  chapmen  on  the  high  road,  or  bringing  back  in  triumph, 
sword  in  hand  and  club  on  shoulder,  their  leader  Hereward  from 
some  duel  which  his  insolence  had  provoked. 

But  this  time,  if  the  story  of  the  sub-prior  was  to  be  believed, 


14       HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

Hereward  and  his  housecarles  had  taken  an  ugly  stride  forward 
toward  the  pit.  They  had  met  him  riding  along,  intent  upon  his 
psalter,  in  a  lonely  path  of  the  Bruneswald,  —  "  whereon  your  son, 
most  gracious  lady,  bade  me  stand,  saying  that  his  men  wei'e 
thirsty  and  he  had  no  money  to  buy  ale  withal,  and  none  so  likely 
to  help  him  thereto  as  a  fat  priest,  —  for  so  he  scandalously  termed 
me,  who,  as  your  ladyship  knows,  am  leaner  than  the  minster 
bell-ropes,  with  fasting  Wednesdays  and  Fridays  throughout  the 
year,  beside  the  vigils  of  the  saints,  and  the  former  and'  latter 
Lents. 

*'  But  when  he  saw  who  I  was,  as  if  inspired  by  a  malignant 
spirit,  he  shouted  out  my  name,  and  bade  his  companions  throw 
me  to  the  ground." 

"  Throw  you  to  the  ground  ?  "  shuddered  the  Lady  Godiva. 

"  In  much  mire,  madam.  After  which  he  took  my  palfrey, 
saying  that  heaven's  gate  was  too  lowly  for  men  on  horseback  to 
get  in  thereat ;  and  then  my  marten's  fur  gloves  and  cape  which 
your  gracious  self  bestowed  on  me,  alleging  that  the  rules  of  my 
order  allowed  only  one  garment,  and  no  furs  save  catskins  and 
such  like.  And  lastly  —  I  tremble  while  I  relate,  thinking  not  of 
the  loss  of  my  poor  money,  but  the  loss  of  an  immortal  soul  — 
took  from  me  a  purse  with  sixteen  silver  pennies,  which  I  had. 
collected  from  our  tenants  for  the  use  of  the  monastery,  and  said, 
blasphemously,  that  I  and  mine  had  swindled  your  ladyship,  and 
therefore  him,  your  son,  out  of  many  a  fair  manor  ere  now  ;  and 
it  was  but  fair  that  he  should  tithe  the  rents  thereof,  as  he  should 
never  get  the  lands  out  of  our  claws  again ;  with  more  of  the 
like,  which  I  blush  to  repeat,  —  and  so  left  me  to  trudge  hither  in 
the  mire." 

"  Wretched  boy ! "  said  the  Lady  Godiva,  and  hid  her  face  in 
her  hands ;  "  and  more  wretched  I,  to  have  brought  such  a  son 
into  the  world !  " 

The  monk  had  hardly  finished  his  doleful  story,  when  there 
was  a  pattering  of  heavy  feet,  a  noise  of  men  shouting  and  laugh- 
ing outside,  and  a  voice,  above  all,  calling  for  the  monk  by  name, 
which  made  that  good  man  crouch  behind  the  curtain  of  Lady 
Godiva's  bed.  The  next  moment  the  door  of  the  bower  was 
thrown  violently  open,  and  in  walked,  or  rather  reeled,  a  noble 
lad  eighteen  yeara  old.  His  face  was  of  extraordinary  beauty, 
save  that  the  lower  jaw  was  too  long  and  heavy,  and  that  his 
eyes  wore  a  stiange  and  almost  sinister  expression,  from  the  fact 
that  the  one  of  them  was  gray  and  the  other  blue.  He  was 
short,  but  of  immense  breadth  of  chest  and  strength  of  limb ; 
while  his  delicate  hands  and  feet  and  long  locks  of  golden  hair 
marked  him  of  most  noble,  and  even,  as  he  really  was,  of  ancient 


HEREWAED,  THE   LAST   OF  THE   ENGLISH.  15 

royal  race.  He  was  dressed  in  a  gaudy  costume,  resembling  on 
the  whole  that  of  a  Highland  chieftain.  His  knees,  wrists,  and 
throat  were  tattoed  in  bright  blue  patterns ;  and  he  carried 
sword  and  dagger,  a  gold  ring  round  his  neck,  and  gold  rings 
on  his  wrists.  He  was  a  lad  to  have  gladdened  the  eyes  of  any 
mother :  but  there  was  no  gladness  in  the  Lady  Godiva's  eyes  as 
she  received  him ;  nor  had  there  been  for  many  a  year.  She 
looked  on  him  with  sternness,  —  with  all  but  horror;  and  he,  his 
face  flushed  with  wine,  which  he  had  tossed  off  as  he  passed 
through  the  hall  to  steady  his  nerves  for  tlie  coming  storm, 
looked  at  her  with  smiling  defiance,  the  result  of  long  estrange- 
ment between  mother  and  son. 

"  Well,  my  lady,"  said  he,  ere  she  could  speak,  "  I  heard  that 
this  good  fellow  was  here,  and  came  home  as  fast  as  I  could,  to 
see  that  he  told  you  as  few  lies  as  possible." 

"  He  has  told  me,"  said  she,  "  that  you  have  robbed  the  Church 
of  God." 

"  Robbed  him,  it  may  be,  an  old  hoody  crow,  against  whom  I 
have  a  grudge  of  ten  years'  standing." 

"  Wretched,  wretched  boy  !  What  wickedness  next  ?  Know 
you  not,  that  he  who  robs  the  Church  robs  God  himself?" 

"  And  he  who  harms  God's  people,"  put  in  the  monk  from  be- 
hind the  chaii",  "harms  his  Maker." 

"  His  Maker  ? "  said  the  lad,  with  concentrated  bitterness. 
*'  It  would  be  a  gay  world,  if  the  Maker  thereof  were  in  any  way 
like  unto  you,  who  call  yourselves  his  people.  Do  you  remem- 
ber who  told  them  to  set  the  peat-stack  on  fire  under  me  ten  years 
ago  ?  Ah,  ha,  Sir  Monk,  you  forget  that  I  have  been  behind  the 
screen,  —  that  I  have  been  a  monk  myself,  or  should  have  been 
one,  if  my  pious  lady  mother  here  had  had  her  will  of  me,  as  she 
may  if  she  likes  of  that  doll  thei'e  at  her  knee.  Do  you  forget 
why  I  left  Peterborough  Abbey,  when  Winter  and  I  turned  all 
your  priest's  books  upside  <lown  in  the  choir,  and  they  would 
have  flogged  us,  —  me,  the  Earl's  son,  —  me,  the  Viking's  son,  — 
me,  the  champion,  as  I  will  be  yet,  and  make  all  lands  ring  with 
the  fame  of  my  deeds,  as  they  rung  with  the  fame  of  my  fore- 
fathers, before  they  became  the  slaves  of  monks ;  and  how,  when 
Winter  and  I  got  hold  of  the  kitchen  spits,  and  up  to  the  top  of 
the  peat-stack,  and  held  you  all  at  bay  there,  a  whole  abbeyful 
of  cowards  there,  against  two  seven  years'  children  ?  It  was  you 
bade  set  the  peat-stack  alight  under  us,  and  so  bring  us  down  ; 
and  would  have  done  it,  too,  had  it  not  been  for  my  Uncle  Brand, 
the  only  man  that  I  care  for  in  this  wide  world.  Do  you  think 
I  have  not  owed  you  a  grudge  ever  since  that  day,  monk  ?  And 
do  you  think  I  will  not  pay  it  ?     Do  you  think  I  would  not  have 


16  HEREWAED,   THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

burned  Peterborough  minster  over  your  head  before  now,  had  it 
not  been  for  Uncle  Brand's  sake  ?  See  that  I  do  not  do  it  yet. 
See  that  when  there  is  another  Prior  in  Borough  you  do  not  find 
Hereward  the  Berserker  smoking  you  out  some  dark  night,  as  he 
would  smoke  a  wasps'  nest.     And  I  will,  by  —  " 

"  Hereward,  Hereward  ! "  cried  his  mother,  "  godless,  god-for- 
gotten boy,  what  words  are  these?  Silence,  betbre  you  burden 
your  soul  with  an  oath  which  the  devils  in  hell  will  accept,  and 
force  you  to  keep ! "  and  she  sprung  up,  and,  seizing  his  ann,  laid 
her  hand  upon  his  mouth. 

Hereward  looked  at  her  majestic  face,  once  lovely,  now  care- 
worn, and  trembled  for  a  moment.  Had  there  been  any  tender- 
ness in  it,  his  history  might  have  been  a  very  different  one  ;  but 
alas !  there  was  none.  Not  that  she  was  in  herself  untender ; 
but  that  her  great  piety  (call  it  not  superstition,  for  it  was  then 
the  only  form  known  or  possible  to  pure  and  devout  souls)  was 
so  outraged  by  this,  or  even  by  the  slightest  insult  to  that  clergy 
whose  willing  slave  she  had  become,  that  the  only  method  of 
reclaiming  the  sinner  had  been  long  forgotten,  in  genuine  horror 
at  his  sin.  "  Is  it  not  enough,"  she  went  on,  sternly,  "  that  you 
should  have  become  the  bully  and  the  ruffian  of  all  the  fens  ?  — 
that  Hereward  the  leaper,  Hereward  the  wrestler,  Hereward  the 
thrower  of  the  hammer —  sports,  after  all,  only  fit  for  the  vsons  of 
slaves  —  should  be  also  Hereward  the  drunkard,  Hereward  the 
common  fighter,  Hereward  the  breaker  of  houses,  Hereward  the 
leader  of  mobs  of  boon  companions  which  bring  back  to  us,  in 
shame  and  sorrow,  the  days  when  our  heathen  foi-efathers  rav- 
aged this  land  with  fire  and  sword  ?  Is  it  not  enough  for  me 
that  my  son  should  be  a  common  stabber  —  ?" 

"  Whoever  called  me  stabber  to  you,  lies.  ,  If  I  have  killed 
men,  or  had  them  killed,  I  have  done  it  in  fair  fight." 

But  she  went  on  unheeding,  —  "Is  it  not  enough,  that,  after 
having  squandered  on  your  fellowa  all  the  money  that  you  could 
wring  from  my  bounty,  or  win  at  your  brutal  sports,  you  should 
have  robbed  your  own  father,  collected  his  rents  behind  his  back, 
taken  money  and  goods  from  his  tenants  by  threats  and  blows ; 
but  that,  after  outraging  them,  you  must  add  to  all  this  a  worse 
sin  likewise,  —  outraging  God,  and  driving  me  —  me  who  have 
borne  with  you,  me  who  have  concealed  all  for  your  sake  —  to 
tell  your  father  that  of  which  the  very  telling  will  turn  my  hair 
to  gray  ?  " 

"  So  you  will  tell  my  father  ?  "  said  Hereward,  coolly. 

"And  if  I  should  not,  this  monk  himself  is  bound  to  do  so,  or 
his  superior,  your  Uncle  Brand." 

"  My  Uncle  Brand  will  not,  and  your  monk  dare  not." 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  17 

"  Then  I  must.  I  have  loved  you  long  and  well ;  but  there  is 
one  thing  which  I  must  love  better  than  you :  and  that  is,  my 
conscience  and  my  Maker." 

"  Those  are  two  things,  my  lady  mother,  and  not  one ;  so  you 
had  better  not  confound  them.  As  for  the  latter,  do  you  not 
think  that  He  who  made  the  world  is  well  able  to  defend  his  own 
property,  —  if  the  lands  and  houses  and  cattle  and  money  which 
these  men  wheedle  and  threaten  and  forge  out  of  you  and  my 
father  are  really  his  property,  and  not  merely  their  plunder? 
As  for  your  conscience,  my  lady  mother,  really  you  have  done  so 
many  good  deeds  in  your  life,  that  it  might  be  beneficial  to  you  to 
do  a  bad  one  once  in  a  way,  so  as  to  keep  your  soul  in  a  whole- 
some state  of  humility." 

The  monk  groaned  aloud.  Lady  Godiva  groaned  ;  but  it  was 
inwardly.  There  was  silence  for  a  moment.  Both  were  abashed 
by  the  lad's  utter  shamelessriess. 

"  And  you  will  tell  my  father  ?  "  said  he  again.  "  He  is  at  the 
old  miracle-worker's  court  at  Westminster.  He  will  tell  the  mir- 
acle-worker, and  I  shall  be  outlawed." 

"  And  if  you  be,  wretched  boy,  whom  have  you  to  blame  but 
yourself?  Can  you  expect  that  the  king,  sainted  even  as  he  is 
before  his  death,  dare  pass  over  such  an  atrocity  towards  Holy 
Church  ?  " 

"  Blame  ?  I  shall  blame  no  one.  Pass  over  ?  I  hope  he  will 
not  pass  over  it.  I  only  want  an  excuse  like  that  for  turning 
kempery-raan,  —  knight-errant,  as  those  Norijian  puppies  call  it, 
—  hke  Regnar  Lodbrog,  or  Frithiof,  or  Harold  Hardraade  ;  and 
try  what  man  can  do  for  himself  in  the  world  with  nothing  to 
help  him  in  heaven  and  earth,  with  neither  saint  nor  angel, 
friend  or  counsellor,  to  see  to  him,  save  his  wits  and  his  good 
sword.  So  send  off  the  messenger,  good  mother  mine :  and  I 
will  promise  you  I  will  not  have  him  ham-strung  on  the  way,  as 
some  of  my  housecarles  would  do  for  me  if  I  but  held  up  my 
hand  ;  and  let  the  miracle-monger  fill  up  the  measure  of  his  folly, 
by  making  an  enemy  of  one  more  bold  fellow  in  the  world." 

And  he  swaggered  out  of  the  room. 

And  when  he  M'as  gone,  the  Lady  Godiva  bowed  her  head  in- 
to her  lap  and  wept  long  and  bitterly.  Neither  her  maidens  nor 
the  priest  dare  speak  to  her  tor  nigh  an  hour ;  but  at  the  end  of 
that  time  she  lifted  up  her  head,  and  settled  her  face  again,  till  it 
was  like  that  of  a  marble  saint  over  a  minster  door ;  and  called 
for  ink  and  paper,  and  wrote  her  letter ;  and  then  asked  lor  a 
trusty  messenger  who  should  carry  it  up  to  Westminster. 

"  None  so  swift  or  sure,"  said  the  house  steward,  "  as  Martin 
Lightfoot." 

B 


18       HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

Lady  Godiva  shook  her  head.  "  I  mistrust  that  man,"  she 
said.     "  He  is  too  fond  of  my  poor  —  of  the  Lord  Hereward." 

"  He  is  a  strange  one,  my  lady,  and  no  one  knows  whence 
he  came,  and,  I  sometimes  fancy,  whither  he  may  go  either; 
but  ever  since  my  lord  threatened  to  hang  him  for  talking  with 
my  young  master,  he  has  never  spoken  to  him,  nor  scarcely, 
indeed,  to  living  soul.  And  one  thing  there  is  makes  him  or 
any  man  sure,  as  long  as  he  is  well  paid ;  and  that  is,  that  he 
cares  for  nothing  in  heaven  or  earth  save  himself  and  what  he 
can  get." 

So  Martin  Lightfoot  was  sent  for.  He  came  in  straiglit  into 
the  lady's  bedchamber,  after  the  simple  fashion  of  those  days. 
He  was  a  tall,  lean,  bony  man.  as  was  to  be  expected  from  his 
nickname,  with  a  long  hooked  nose,  a  scanty  brown  beard,  and  a 
high  conical  head.  His  only  garment  was  a  shabby  gray  woollen 
tunic,  which  served  him  both  as  coat  and  kilt,  and  laced  brogues 
of  untanned  hide.  He  might  have  been  any  age  from  twenty  to 
forty ;  but  his  face  was  disfigured  with  deep  scars  and  long  expo- 
sure to  the  weather.  He  dropped  on  one  knee,  holding  his 
greasy  cap  in  his  hand,  and  looked,  not  at  his  lady's  face,  but  at 
her  feet,  with  a  stupid  and  frightened  expression.  She  knew 
very  little  of  him,  save  tliat  her  husband  had  picked  him  up  upon 
the  road  as  a  wanderer  some  five  years  since ;  and  that  he  had. 
been  employed  as  a  doer  of  odd  jobs  and  runner  of  messages, 
and  that  was  supposed,  from  his  taciturnity  and  strangeness,  to 
have  something  un^nny  nbout  him. 

"  Martin,"  said  the  lady,  "  they  tell  me  that  you  are  a  silent 
and  a  prudent  man." 

"  That  am  I. ' 

'  Tongue  speaketh  bane. 
Though  she  herself  hath  nane.'  " 

"  I  shall  try  you  :  do  you  know  your  way  to  London  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  To  your  lord's  lodgings  in  Westminster  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  How  long  shall  you  be  going  there  with  this  letter  ?  " 

"  A  day  and  a  half." 

"  When  shall  you  be  back  hither  ?  " 

"  On  the  fourth  day." 

"  And  you  will  go  to  my  lord  and  deliver  this  letter  safely  ?  " 

"  Yes,  your  Majesty." 

"  Why  do  you  call  me  Majesty  ?     The  King  is  Majesty." 

"  You  are  my  Queen." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  man  ?  " 

*'  You  can  hang  me." 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  -OF  THE  ENGLISH.        19 

"  I  hang  thee,  poor  soul !  Who  did  I  ever  hang,  or  hurt  for  a 
moment,  if  I  could  help  it  ?  " 

"  But  the  Earl  may." 

"  He  will  neither  hang  nor  hurt  thee  if  thou  wilt  take  this 
letter  safely,  and  bring  me  back  the  answer  safely." 

"  They  will  kill  me." 

«  Who  ? "  ■  ^ 

"  They,"  said  Martin,  pointing  to  the  bower  maidens,  —  young 
ladies  of  good  family  who  stood  round,  chosen  for  their  good 
looks,  after  the  fashion  of  those  times,  to  attend  on  great  ladies. 
There  was  a  cry  of  angry  and  contemptuous  denial,  not  unmixed 
with  something  like  laughter,  which  showed  that  Martin  had  but 
spoken  the  truth.  Hereward,  in  spite  of  all  his  sins,  was  the  dar- 
ling of  his  mother's  bower ;  and  there  was  not  one  of  the  damsels 
but  would  have  done  anything  short  of  murder  to  have  prevented 
Martin  carrying  the  letter. 

''Silence,  man!"  said  Lady  Godiva,v^so  sternly  that  Martin 
saw  that  he  had  gone  too  far.  "  How  know'st  such  as  thou  what 
is  in  this  letter  ?  " 

"  Those  others  will  know,"  said  Martin,  sullenly,  without  an- 
swering the  last  question. 

«  Who  ?  " 

"  His  housecarles  outside  there." 

"  He  has  promised  that  they  shall  not  touch  thee.  But  how 
knowest  thou  what  is  in  this  letter  ?  " 

"  I  will  take  it,"  said  Martin  :  he  held  out  his  hand,  took  it 
and  looked  at  it,  but  upside  down,  and  without  any  attempt  to 
read  it. 

"  His  own  mother,"  said  he,  after  a  while. 

"  What  is  that  to  thee  ?  "  said  Lady  Godiva,  blushing  and  kin- 
dling. 

"  Nothing  :  I  had  no  mother.     But  God  has  one  !  " 

"  What  meanest  thou,  knave  ?  Wilt  thou  take  the  letter  or 
no?" 

"  I  will  take  it."  And  he  again  looked  at  it  without  rising  off 
his  knee.     "  His  own  father,  too." 

"  What  is  that  to  thee,  I  say  again  ?  " 

"  Nothing  :  I  have  no  father.     But  God's  Son  has  one  !  " 

*'  What  wilt  thou,  thou  strange  man  ?  "  asked  she,  puzzled  and 
half-frightened ;  "  and  how  earnest  thou  to  know  what  is  in  this 
letter  ?  " 

"  Who  does  not  know  ?  A  city  that  is  set  on  a  hill  cannot  be 
hid.     On  the  fourth  day  from  this  I  will  be  back." 

And  Martin  rose,  and  putting  the  letter  solemnly  into  the  purse 
at  his  girdle,  shot  out  of  the  door  with  clenched  teeth,  as  a  man 


20       HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

upon  a  fixed  purpose  which  it  would  lighten  his  heart  to  carry 
out.  He  ran  rapidly  through  the  large  outer  hall,  past  the  long 
oak  table,  at  which  Hereward  and  his  boon  companions  were 
drinking  and  roistering ;  and  as  he  passed  the  young  lord  he 
cast  on  him  a  look  so  full  of  meaning,  that  though  Hereward 
knew  not  what  the  meaning  was,  it  startled  him,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment softened  him.  Did  this  man  who  had  sullenly  avoided  hira 
for  more  than  two  years,  whom  he  had  looked  on  as  a  clod  or  a 
post  in  the  field  beneath  his  notice,  since  he  could  be  of  no  use^to 
him,  —  did  this  man  still  care  for  him?  Hereward  had  reason 
to  know  better  than  most  that  there  was  something  strange  and 
uncanny  about  the  man.  Did  he  mean  him  well  ?  Or  had  he 
some  grudge  against  him,  which  made  him  undertake  this  journey 
willingly  and  out  of  spite  ?  —  possibly  with  the  will  to  make  bad 
worse.  For  an  instant  Hereward's  heart  misgave  him.  He 
would  stop  the  letter  at  all  risks.  "  Hold  him !  "  he  cried  to  his 
comrades. 

But  Martin  turned  to  hira,  laid  his  finger  on  his  lips,  smiled 
kindly,  and  saying  "  You  promised  !  "  caught  up  a  loaf  from  the 
table,  slipped  from  among  them  like  an  eel,  and  darted  out  of  the 
door,  and  out  of  the  close.  They  followed  hira  to  the  great  gate, 
and  there  stopped,  some  cursing,  some  laughing.  To  give  Martin 
Lightfoot  a  yard  advantage  was  never  to  come  up  with  him 
again.  Some  called  for  bows  to  bring  him  down  with  a  parting 
shot.  But  Hereward  forbade  them  ;  and  stood  leaning  against 
the  gate-post,  watching  him  trot  on  like  a  lean  wolf  over  the 
lawn,  till  he  was  lost  in  the  great  elra-woods  which  fringed  the 
southern  fen. 

"  Now,  lads,"  said  Hereward,  "  home  with  you  all,  and  make 
your  peace  with  your  fathers.  In  this  house  you  never  drink  ale 
again." 

They  looked  at  him,  surprised. 

•'  You  are  disbanded,  my  gallant  ai'ray.  As  long  as  I  could 
cut  long  thongs  out  of  other  men's  hides,  I  could  feed  you  like 
earl's  sons:  but  now  I  must  feed  myself;  and  a  dog  over  his 
bone  wants  no  company.  Outlawed  I  shall  be  before  the  week 
is  out  ;  and  unless  you  wish  to  be  outlawed  too,  you  will  obey 
orders,  and  home." 

"  We  will  follow  you  to  the  world's  end,"  cried  some. 

"  To  the  rope's  end,  lads  :  that  is  all  you  will  get  in  my  com- 
pany. Go  home  with  you,  and  those  who  feel  a  calling,  let  them 
turn  monks ;  and  those  who  have  not,  let  them  learn 

'  For  to  plough  and  to  sow, 
And  to  reap  and  to  mow, 
And  to  be  a  farmer's  boy.' 
Good  night." 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       21 

And  he  went  in,  and  shut  the  great  gates  after  hiui,  leaving 
them  astonished. 

To  take  his  advice,  and  go  home,  was  the  simplest  thing  to  be 
done.  A  few  of  them  on  their  return  were  soundly  thrashed, 
and  deserved  it ;  a  few  were  hidden  by  their  mothers  for  a  week, 
in  hay-lofts  and  hen-roosts,  till  their  fathers'  anger  had  passed 
away.  But  only  one  turned  monk  or  clerk,  and  that  was  Leofric 
the  Unlucky,  godson  of  the  great  earl,  and  poet-in-ordinary  to 
the  band. 

The  next  morning  at  dawn  Hereward  mounted  his  best  horse, 
armed  himself  from  head  to  foot,  and  rode  over  to  Peterbor- 
ough. 

When  he  came  to  the  abbey-gate,  he  smote  thereon  with  his 
lance-but,  till  the  porter's  teeth  rattled  in  his  head  for  fear. 

".Let  me  in!"  he  shouted.  "I  am  Hereward  Leofricsson.  I 
must  see  my  Uncle  Brand." 

"  O  my  most  gracious  lord ! "  cried  the  porter,  thrusting  his 
head  out  of  the  wicket,  "  what  is  this  that  you  have  been  doing 
to  our  Steward  ?  " 

"The  tithe  of  what  I  will  do,  unless  you  open  the  gate!" 

"  0  my  lord ! "  said  the  porter,  as  he  opened  it,  "  if  our  Lady 
and  St.  Peter  would  but  have  mercy  on  your  fair  face,  and  con- 
vert your  soul  to  the  fear  of  God  and  man  — " 

"  She  would  make  me  as  good  an  old  fool  as  you.  Fetch  my 
uncle,  the  Prior." 

The  porter  obeyed.  The  son  of  Eaid  Leofric  was  as  a  young 
lion  among  the  sheep  in  those  parts  ;  and  few  dare  say  him  nay, 
certainly  not  the  monks  of  Peterborough  ;  moreovei-,  the  good 
porter  could  not  help  being  strangely  fond  of  Hereward,  —  as 
was  every  one  whom  he  did  not  insult,  rob,  or  kill. 

Out  came  Brand,  a  noble  elder :  more  fit,  from  his  eye  and 
gait,  to  be  a  knight  than  a  monk.  He  looked  sadly  at  Here- 
ward. 

"  '  Dear  is  bought  the  honey  that  is  licked  off  the  thorn,'  quoth 
Hending,"  said  he. 

"  Hending  bought  his  wisdom  by  experience,  I  suppose,"  said 
Hereward,  "and  so  must  L  So  I  am  just  starting  out  to  see  the 
world,  uncle." 

"  Naughty,  naughty  boy  !  If  we  had  thee  safe  here  again  for 
a  week,  we  would  take  this  hot  blood  out  of  thee,  and  send  thee 
home  in  thy  right  mind." 

"  Bring  a  rod  and  whip  me,  then.  Try,  and  you  shall  have 
your  chance.  Every  one  else  has  had,  and  this  is  the  end  of 
their  labors." 

"  By  the  chains  of  St.  Peter,"  quoth  the  monk,  "  that  is  jast 


22  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

what  thou  needest.  Hoist  thee  on  such  another  fool's  back,  truss 
thee  up,  and  lay  it  on  lustily,  till  thou  art  ashamed.  To  treat 
thee  as  a  man  is  only  to  make  thee  a  more  heady  blown-up  ass 
than  thou  art  already." 

"  True,  most  wise  uncle.  And  therefore  my  still  wiser  parents 
are  going  to  treat  me  like  a  man  indeed,  and  send  me  out  into 
the  world  to  seek  my  fortunes  !  " 

"  Eh  ?  " 

"  They  are  going  to  prove  how  thoroughly  they  trust  me  to 
take  care  of  myself,  by  outlawing  me.  Eh  ?  say  I  in  return.  Is 
not  that  an  honor,  and  a  proof  that  I  have  not  shown  myself  a 
fool,  though  I  may  have  a  madman  ?  " 

"*  Outlaw  you  ?  O  my  boy,  my  darling,  my  pride !  Get  off 
your  horse,  and  don't  sit  there,  hand  on  hip,  like  a  turbaned  Sara- 
cen, defying  God  and  man  ;  but  come  down  and  talk  reason  to 
me,  for  the  sake  of  St.  Peter  and  all  saints." 

Here  ward  tln-ew  himself  off  his  horse,  and  threw  his  arms 
round  his  uncle's  neck. 

"  Pish  !  Now,  uncle,  don't  cry,  do  what  you  will,  le^t  I  cry 
too.  Help  me  to  be  a  man  while  I  live,  even  if  I  go  to  the  black 
place  when  I  die." 

"  It  shall  not  be  !  "...  .  and  the  monk  swore  by  all  the  relics 
in  Peterborough  minster. 

"  It  must  be.  It  shall  be.  I  like  to  be  outlawed.  I  want  to 
be  outlawed.  It  makes  one  feel  like  a  man.  There  is  not  an 
earl  in  England,  save  my  father,  who  has  not  been  outlawed  in 
his  time.  My  brother  Alfgar  will  be  outlawed  before  he  dies,  if 
he  has  the  spirit  of  a  man  in  him.  It  is  the  fashion,  my  uncle, 
and  I  must  follow  it.  So  hey  for  the  merry  greenwood,  and  the 
long  shi[)s,  and  the  swan's  bath,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  Uncle, 
you  will  lend  rae  fifty  silver  pennies  ?  " 

"  I  ?  I  would  not  lend  thee  one,  if  I  had  it,  which  I  have  not. 
And  yet,  old  fool  that  I  am,  I  believe  I  would." 

"  I  would  pay  thee  back  honestly.  I  shall  go  down  to  Con 
stantinople  to  the  Varangers,  get  my  Polotaswarf*  out  of  the 
Kaiser's  treasure,  and  pay  thee  back  five  to  one." 

"  What  does  this  son  of  Belial  here  ?  "  asked  an  austere  voice. 

"  Ah  !  Abbot  Leofric,  my  very  good  lord.  I  have  come  to  ask 
hospitality  of  you  for  some  three  days.  By  that  time  I  shall  be 
a  wolf's  head,  and  out  of  the  law  :  and  then,  if  you  will  give  me 
ten  minutes'  start,  you  may  put  your  bloodhounds  on  my  track, 
and  see  which  runs  fastest,  they  or  I.     You  are  a  gentleman,  and 

*  See  "  The  Heimskringla,"  Harold  Hardraade's  Saga,  for  the  meaning  ot 
this  word. 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       23 

a  man  of  honor ;  so  I  trust  to  you  to  feed  my  horse  fairly  the 
meanwhile,  and  not  to  let  your  monks  poison  me." 

The  Abbot's  face  relaxed.  He  tried  to  look  as  solemn  as  he 
could  ;  but  he  ended  in  bursting  into  a  very  great  laughter,  and 
swearing  likewise. 

"  The  insolence  of  this  lad  passes  the  miracles  of  all  saints. 
He  robs  St.  Peter  on  the  highway,  breaks  into  his  abbey,  insults 
hira  to  his  face,  and  then  asks  him  for  hospitality  ;  and  —  " 

"  And  gets  it,"  quoth  Hereward. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  with  hira.  Brand,  my  friend  ?  If  we  turn 
him  out  —  " 

"  Which  we  cannot  do,"  said  Brand,  looking  at  the  well-mailed 
and  armed  lad,  "  without  calling  in  half  a  dozen  of  our  men-at- 
arms." 

"In  which  case  there  would  be  blood  shed,  and  scandal  made 
in  the  holy  precincts." 

"  And  nothing  gained ;  for  yield  he  would  not  till  he  was  killed 
outright,  which  God  forbid  !  " 

"  Amen.  And  if  he  stay  here,  he  may  be  persuaded  to  repent- 
ance." 

"  And  restitution." 

"  As  for  that,"  quoth  Hereward  (who  had  remounted  his  horse 
from  prudential  motives,  and  set  him  athwart  the  gateway,  so  that 
there  was  no  chance  of  the  doors  being  slammed  behind  him),  ''if 
either  of  you  will  lend  me  sixteen  pence,  I  will  pay  it  back  to 
you  and  St.  Feter  before  I  die,  with  interest  enough  to  satisfy 
any  Jew,  on  the  word  of  a  gentleman  and  an  earl's  son." 

The  Abbot  burst  again  into  a  great  laughter.  "  Come  in,  thou 
graceless  renegade,  and  we  will  see  to  thee  and  thy  horse  ;  and 
I  will  pray  to  St.  Peter;  and  I  doubt  not  he  will  have  patience 
with  thee,  for  he  is  very  merciful  ;  and  after  all,  thy  parents  have 
been  exceeding  good  to  us,  and  the  righteousness  of  the  father, 
like  his  sins,  is  sometimes  visited  on  the  children." 

Now,  why  were  the  two  ecclesiastics  so  uncanonically  kind  to 
this  wicked  youth  ? 

Perhaps  because  both  the  old  bachelors  were  wishing  from 
their  hearts  that  they  had  just  such  a  son  of  their  own.  And 
beside.  Earl  Leofric  was  a  very  great  man  indeed ;  and  the  wind 
might  change ;   for  it  is  an  unstable  world. 

"  Only,  mind,  one  thing,"  said  the  naughty  boy,  as  he  dismount- 
ed, and  halloed  to  a  lay-brother  to  see  to  his  horse,  —  "  don't  let 
me  see  the  face  of  that  Herluin." 

"And  why?  You  have  wronged  him,  and  he  will  forgive  you, 
doubtless,  like  a  good  Christian  as  he  is." 

"  That  is  his  concern.     But  if  I  seo  him,  I  cut  off  his  head. 


24  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

And,  as  Uncle  Brand  knows,  I  always  sleep  with  my  sword  under 
my  pillow." 

''  O  that  such  a  mother  should  have  borne  such  a  son ! " 
groaned  the  Abbot,  as  they  went  in. 

On  the  fifth  day  came  Martin  Lightfoot,  and  found  Hereward 
in  Prior  Brand's  private  cell. 

"  Well  ?  "  asked  Hereward,  coolly. 

"  Is  he  —  ?  Is  he  —  ?  "  stammered  Brand,  and  could  not  finish 
his  sentence. 

Martin  nodded. 

Hereward  laughed,  —  a  loud,  swaggering,  hysterical  laugh. 

"  See  what  it  is  to  be  born  of  just  and  pious  parents.  Come, 
Master  Ti"ot-alone,  speak  out  and  tell  us  all  about  it.  Thy  lean 
wolfs  legs  have  run  to  some  purpose.  Open  thy  lean  wolfs 
mouth  and  speak  for  once,  lest  I  ease  thy  legs  for  the  rest  of  thy 
life  by  a  cut  across  the  haras.     Find  thy  lost  tongue,  I  say ! " 

"  Walls  have  ears,  as  well  as  the  wild-wood,"  said  Martin. 

"  We  are  safe  here,"  said  the  Prior ;  "  so  speak,  and  tell  us  the 
whole  truth." 

"  VV^ell,  when  the  Earl  read  the  letter,  he  turned  red,  and  pale 
again,  and  then  naught  but,  '  Men,  follow  me  to  the  King  at 
Westminster.'  So  we  went,  all  with  our  weapons,  twenty  or 
more,  along  the  Strand,  and  up  into  the  King's  new  hall;  and 
a  grand  hall  it  is,  but  not  easy  to  get  into,  for  the  crowd  of  monks 
and  beggars  on  the  stairs,  hindering  honest  folks'  business.  And 
there  sat  the  King  on  a  high  settle,  with  his  pink  face  and  white 
hair,  looking  as  royal  as  a  bell-wether  new  washed ;  and  on  either 
side  of  him,  on  the  same  settle,  sat  the  old  fox  and  the  young 
wolf." 

"  Godwin  and  Harold  ?     And  where  was  the  Queen  ?  " 

"  Sitting  on  a  stool  at  his  feet,  with  her  hands  together  as  if  she 
were  praying,  and  her  eyes  downcast,  as  demure  as  any  cat.  And 
so  is  fulfilled  the  story,  how  the  sheep-dog  went  out  to  get  mar- 
ried, and  left  the  fox,  tlie  wolf,  and  the  cat  to  guard  the  flock." 

"  If  thou  hast  found  thy  tongue,"  said  Brand,  *'  thou  art  like 
enoujrh  to  lose  it  again  by  slice  of  knife,  talking  such  ribaldry 
of  dignities.  Dost  not  know"  —  and  he  sank  his  voice  —  "that 
Abbot  Leofric  is  Earl  Harold's  man,  and  that  Harold  himself 
made  him  abbot  ?  " 

"  I  said,  walls  have  ears.  It  was  you  who  told  me  that  we 
were  safe.  However,  I  will  bridle  the  unruly  one."  And  he 
went  on.  "  And  your  father  walked  up  the  hall,  his  lei't  hand 
on  his  sword-hilt,  looking  an  earl  all  over,  as  he  is." 

"  He  is  that,"  said  Hereward,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  And  he  bowed ;  and  the  most  magnificent,  powerful,  and  vir- 


HEREWARD,   THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH,  25 

tuous  Godwin  would  have  beckoned  liira  up  to  sit  on  the  high  set- 
tle ;  but  he  looked  straight  at  the  King,  as  if  there  were  never  a 
Godwin  or  a  Godwinsson  on  earth,  and  cried  as  he  stood, — 

"  '  Justice,  my  Lord  the  King ! ' 

"  And  at  that  the  King  turned  pale,  and  said,  '  Who  ?  What  ? 
0  miserable  world !  O  last  days  drawing  nearer  and  nearer !  O 
earth,  full  of  violence  and  blood !  Who  has  wronged  thee  now, 
most  dear  and  noble  Earl  ? ' 

"'Justice  against  my  own  son.' 

"  At  that  the  fox  looked  at  the  wolf,  and  the  wolf  at  the  fox ; 
and  if  they  did  not  smile  it  was  not  for  v/ant  of  will,  I  warrant. 
But  your  father  went  on,  and  told  all  his  story ;  and  when  he 
came  to  your  robbing  master  monk,  — '  O  apostate  ! '  cries  the 
bell-wether,  '  O  spawn  of  Beelzebub !  excommunicate  him,  with 
bell,  book,  and  candle.  May  he  be  thrust  down  with  Korah,  Ba- 
laam, and  Iscariot,  to  the  most  Stygian  pot  of  the  sempiternal 
Tartarus.' 

"And  at  that  your. father  smiled.  'That  is  bishops'  work,* 
says  he  ;  '  and  I  want  king's  work  from  you.  Lord  King.  Outlaw 
me  this  young  rebel's  sinful  body,  as  by  law  you  can ;  and  leave 
his  sinful  soul  to  the  priests,  —  or  to  God's  mercy,  which  is  like 
to  be  more  than  theirs.' 

"  Then  the  Queen  looked  up.  '  Your  own  son,  noble  Earl  ? 
Think  of  what  you  are  doing,  and  one  whom  all  say  is  so  gallant 
and  so  fair.  O  persuade  him,  father,  —  persuade  him,  Harold 
my  brother,  —  or,  if  you  cannot  persuade  him,  persuade  the  King 
at  least,  and  save  this  poor  youth  from  exile.' " 

"  Puss  Velvet-paw  knew  well  enough,"  said  Hereward,  in  a 
low  voice,  "  that  the  way  to  harden  my  father's  heart  was  to  set 
Godwin  and  Harold  on  softening  it.  They  ask  my  pardon  from 
the  King  ?  I  would  not  take  it  at  their  asking,  even  if  my  father 
would." 

"  There  spoke  a  true  Leofricsson,"  said  Brand,  in  spite  of  him- 
self. 

" '  By  the  — '  (and  Martin  repeated  a  certain  very  solemn 
oath),  said  your  father,  'justice  I  will  have,  my  Lord  King.  Who 
talks  to  me  of  my  own  son  ?  You  jDut  me  into  my  earldom  to 
see  justice  done  and  law  obeyed ;  and  how  shall  I  make  others 
keep  within  bound  if  I  am  not  to  keep  in  my  own  flesh  and  blood? 
Here  is  this  land  running  headlong  to  ruin,  because  every  noble- 
man —  ay,  every  churl  who  owns  a  manor,  if  he  dares  —  must 
needs  arm  and  saddle,  and  levy  war  on  his  own  behalf,  and  harry 
and  slay  the  king's  lieges,  if  he  have  not  garlic  to  hi-*  roast  goose 
every  time  he  chooses,'  —  and  there  your  father  did  look  at  God- 
win, once  and  for  all;  —  'and  shall  I  let  my  son  follow  the  fashion, 
2 


26  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OP  THE  ENGLISH. 

and  do  his  best  to  leave  the  land  open  and  weak  for  Norseman, 
or  Dane,  or  Frenchman,  or  whoever  else  hopes  next  to  mount  the 
throne  of  a  king  who  is  too  holy  to  leave  an  heir  behind  him  ? ' " 

"  Ahoi !  Martin  the  silent !  Where  learnt  you  so  suddenly  the 
trade  of  preaching  ?  I  thought  you  kept  your  wind  for  your 
running  this  two  years  past.  You  would  make  as  good  a  talker 
among  the  Witan  as  Godwin  himself  You  give  it  us  all,  word 
for  word,  and  voice  and  gesture  withal,  as  if  you  were  King 
Edward's   French   Chancellor." 

Martin  smiled.  "  I  am  like  Falada  the  horse,  my  lords,  who 
could  only  speak  to  his  own  true  princess.  Why  I  held  my  tongue 
of  late  was  only  lest  they  should  cut  my  head  off  for  talking,  as 
they  did  poor  Falada's." 

"  Thou  art  a  very  crafty,  knave,"  said  Brand,  "  and  hast  had 
clerk -learning  in  thy  time,  I  can  see,  and  made  bad  use  of  it.  I 
misdoubt  very  much  that  thou  art  some  runaway  monk." 

"  That  am  I  not,  by  St.  Peter's  chains ! "  said  Martin,  in  an 
eager,  terrified  voice.  "  Lord  Hereward,  I  came  hither  as  your 
father's  messenger  and  servant.  You  will  see  me  safe  out  of  this 
abbey,  like  an  honorable  gentleman  !  " 

"  I  will.  All  I  know  of  him,  uncle,  is  that  he  used  to  tell  me 
stories,  when  I  was  a  boy,  of  enchanters,  and  knights,  and  dragons, 
and  such  like,  and  got  into  trouble  for  filling  my  head  with  such 
fancies.     Now  let  him  tell  his  story  in  peace." 

"  He  shall ;  but  I  misdoubt  the  fellow  very  much.  He  talks  as 
if  he  knew  Latin ;  and  what  business  has  a  foot-running  slave  to 
do  that  ?  " 

So  Martin  went  on,  somewhat  abashed.  "'And,'  said  your 
father,  'justice  I  will  have,  and  leave  injustice,  and  the  overlook- 
ing of  it,  to  tiiose  who  wish  to  profit  thereby.' 

"  And  at  that  Godwin  smiled,  and  said  to  the  King,  '  The 
Earl  is  wise,  as  usual,  and  speaks  like  a  very  Solomon.  Your 
Majesty  must,  in  spite  of  your  own  tenderness  of  heart,  have 
these  letters  of  outlawry  made  out.' 

"Then  all  our  men  murmured,  —  and  I  as  loud  as  any.  But 
old  Surturbrand  the  housecarle  did  more ;  for  out  he  stepped  to 
your  father's  side,  and  spoke  right  up  before  the  King. 

" '  Bonny  times,'  he  said,  '  I  have  lived  to  see,  when  a  lad  of 
Eai'l  Oslac's  blood  is  sent  out  of  the  land,  a  beggar  and  a  wol^s 
head,  for  playing  a  boy's  trick  or  two,  and  upsetting  a  shaveling 
priest!  We  managed  such  wild  young  colts  better,  we  Vikings 
who  conquered  the  Danelagh.  If  Canute  had  had  a  son  like 
Hereward  —  as  would  to  God  he  had  had  !  —  he  would  have  dealt 
with  him  as  ohl  Swend  Forkbeard  (God  grant  I  meet  him  in 
Valhalla,  in  spite  of  all  priests !)  did  by  Canute  himself  when  he 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.        27 

was  young,  and  kicked  and  plunged  awhile  at  being  first  bitted 
and  saddled.' 

"'What  does  the  man  say?'  asked  the  King,  for  old  Sortur- 
brand  was  talking  broad  Danish. 

"  '  He  is  a  housecarle  of  mine,  Lord  King,  a  good  man  and 
true ;  but  old  age  and  rough  Danish  blood  has  made  him  forget 
that  he  stands  before  kings  and  earls.' 

"  '  By  — ,  Earl ! '  says  Surturbrand,  I  have  fought  knee  to 
knee  beside  a  braver  king  than  that  there,  and  nobler  earls  than 
ever  a  one  here  ;  and  was  never  afraid,  like  a  free  Dane,  to  speak 
my  mind  to  them,  by  sea  or  land.  And  if  the  King,  with  his 
French  ways,  does  not  understand  a  plain  man's  talk,  the  two 
earls  yonder  do  right  well,  and  I  say,  —  Deal  by  this  lad  in  the 
good  old  fashion.  Give  him  half  a  dozen  long  ships,  and  what 
crews  he  can  get  together,  and  send  him  out,  as  Canute  would 
have  done,  to  seek  his  fortune  like  a  Viking ;  and  if  he  comes 
home  with  plenty  of  wounds,  and  plenty  of  plunder,  give  him  an 
earldom  as  he  deserves.  Do  you  ask  your  Countess,  IJ^arl  God- 
win, —  she  is  of  the  right  Danish  blood,  God  bless  her !  though 
she  is  your  wife,  —  and  see  if  she  does  not  know  how  to  bring  a 
naughty  lad  to  his  senses.' 

"  Then  Harold  the  Earl  said  :  '  The  old  man  is  right.  King, 
listen  to  what  he  says.'     And  he  told  him  all,  quite  eagerly." 

"How  did  you  know  that?     Can  you  understand  French?" 

"  I  am  a  poor  idiot,  give  me  a  halfpenny,"  said  Martin,  in  a 
doleful  voice,  as  he  threw  into  his  face  and  whole  figure  a  look 
of  helpless  stupidity  and  awkwardness,  which  set  them  both 
laughing. 

But  Hereward  checked  himself.  "  And  you  think  he  was  in 
earnest  ?  " 

"As  sure  as  there  are  holy  crows  in  Crowland.  But  it  was  of 
no  nse.  Tour  father  got  a  parchment,  with  an  outlandish  Nor- 
man seal  hanging  to  it,  and  sent  mo  off'  with  it  that  same  night 
to  give  to  the  lawman.  So  wolf's  head  you  are,  my  lord,  and 
there  is  no  use  crying  over  spilt  milk." 

"  And  Harold  spoke  for  me  ?  It  will  be  as  well  to  tell  Ab- 
bot Leofric  that,  in  case  he  be  inclined  to  turn  traitor,  and  refuse 
to  open  the  gates.  Once  outside  them,  I  care  not  for  mortal 
pian." 

"  My  poor  boy,  there  will  be  many  a  one  whom  thou  hast 
wronged  only  too  ready  to  lie  in  wait  for  thee,  now  thy  life  is 
in  every  man's  hand.  If  the  outlawry  is  published,  thou  hadst 
best  start  to-night,  and  get  past  Lincoln  before  morning." 

"  I  shall  stay  quietly  here,  and  get  a  good  night's  rest ;  and 
then  ride  out  to-morrow  morning  in  the  face  of  the  whole  shire. 


28  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

No,  not  a  word!  You  would  not  have  me  sneak  away  like  a 
coward  ?  " 

Brand  smiled  and  shrugged  his  shoulders:  being  very  much 
of  the  same  mind. 

"At  least,  go  north." 

"  And  why  north  ?  " 

"  You  have  no  quarrel  in  Northumberland,  and  the  King's  writ 
runs  very  slowly  there,  if  at  all.  Old  Siward  Digre  may  stand 
your  friend." 

"  He  ?  he  is  a  fast  friend  of  my  father's." 

"  What  of  that  ?  the  old  Viking  will  like  you  none  the  less 
for  having  shown  a  touch  of  his  own  temper.  Go  to  him,  I  say, 
and  tell  him  that  I  sent  you." 

"  But  he  is  fighting  the  Scots  beyond  the  Forth." 

"  So  much  the  better.  There  will  be  good  work  for  you  to  do. 
And  Gislebert  of  Glient  is  up  there  too,  I  hear,  trying  to  settle 
himself  among  the  Scots.  He  is  your  mother's  kinsman ;  and 
as  for  your  being  an  outlaw,  he  wants  hard  hitters  and  hard 
riders,  and  all  is  fish  that  comes  to  his  net.  Find  him  out,  too, 
and  tell  him  I  sent  you." 

"  You  are  a  good  old  uncle,"  said  Hereward.  "  Why  were 
you  not  a  soldier  ?  " 

Brand  laughed  somewhat  sadly. 

"  If  I  had  been  a  soldier,  lad,  where  would  you  have  looked 
for  a  friend  this  day  ?  No.  God  has  done  what  was  merciful 
with  me  and  my  sins.     May  he  do  the  same  by  thee  and  thine." 

Hereward  made  an  impatient  movement.  He  disliked  any 
word  which  seemed  likely  to  soften  his  own  hardness  of  heart. 
But  he  kissed  his  uncle  lovingly  on  both  cheeks. 

"  By  the  by,  Martin,  —  any  message  from  my  lady  mother  ?  " 

"  None ! " 

"  Quite  right  and  pious.  I  am  an  enemy  to  Holy  Church  and 
therefore  to  her.     Good  night,  uncle." 

"  Hey  ?  "  a-ked  Brand  ;  "  where  is  that  footman,  —  Martin  you 
call  him  ?     I  must  have  another  word  with  him." 

But  Martin  was  gone. 

"  No  matter.  I  shall  question  him  sharply  enough  to-morrow, 
I  warrant." 

And  Hereward  went  out  to  his  lodging ;  while  the  good  Prior 
went  to  his  prayers. 

When  Hereward  entered  his  room,  Martin  started  out  of  the 
darkness,  and  followed  him  in.  Then  he  shut  to  the  door  care- 
fully, and  pulled  out  a  bag. 

"  There  was  no  message  from  my  lady :  but  there  was  this." 

The  bag  was  full  of  money. 


HEREWAED,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       29 

"  "Why  did  you  not  tell  me  of  this  before  ?  " 

"  Never  show  money  before  a  monk." 

"Villain!  would  you  mistrust  my  uncle?" 

"  Any  man  with  a  shaven  crown.  St.  Peter  is  his  God  and 
Lord  and  conscience ;  and  if  he  saw  but  tlie  shine  of  a  penny, 
for  St.  Peter  he  would  want  it." 

"  And  he  shall  have  it,"  quoth  Hereward ;  and  flung  out  of  the 
room,  and  into  his  uncle's. 

"  Uncle,  I  have  money.  I  am  come  to  pay  back  what  I  took 
from  the  Steward,  and  as  much  more  into  the  bargain."  And  he 
told  out  eight-and-thirty  pieces. 

"  Thank  God  and  all  his  saints ! "  cried  Brand,  weeping  abun- 
dantly for  joy ;  for  he  had  acquired,  by  long  devotion,  the  donum 
lachrymarum,  —  that  lachrymose  and  somewhat  hysterical  tem- 
perament common  among  pious  monks,  and  held  to  be  a  mark  of 
grace. 

"  Blessed  St.  Peter,  thou  art  repaid ;  and  thou  wilt  be  mer- 
ciful ! " 

Brand  believed,  in  common  with  all  monks  then,  that  Here- 
ward had  robbed,  not  merely  the  Abbey  of  Peterborough,  but, 
what  was  more,  St.  Peter  himself;  thereby  converting  into  an 
implacable  and  internecine  foe  the  chief  of  the  Apostles,  the  rock 
on  which  was  founded  the  whole  Church. 

"  Now,  uncle,"  said  Hereward,  "  do  me  one  good  deed  in  return. 
Promise  me  that,  if  you  can  help  it,  none  of  my  poor  house- 
carles  shall  suffer  for  my  sins.  I  led  them  into  trouble.  I  am 
punished.  I  have  made  restitution,  —  at  least  to  St.  Peter.  See 
that  my  father  and  mother,  if  they  be  the  Christians  they  call 
themselves,  forgive  and  forget  all  offences  except  mine." 

"  I  will ;  so  help  me  all  saints  and  our  Lord.  O  my  boy,  my 
boy,  thou  shouldst  have  been  a  king's  thane,  and  not  an  outlaw  ! " 

And  he  hurried  off  with  the  news  to  the  Abbot. 

When  Hereward  returned  to  his  room,  Martin  was  gone. 

"  Farewell,  good  men  of  Peterborough,"  said  Hereward,  as  he 
leapt  into  the  saddle  n(;xt  morning.  "  I  had  made  a  vow  against 
you,  and  came  to  try  you ;  to  see  whether  you  would  force  me 
to  fulfil  it  or  not.  But  you  have  been  so  kind  that  I  have  half 
repented  of  it ;  and  the  evil  shall  not  come  in  the  days  of  Abbot 
Leofric,  nor  of  Brand  the  Prior,  though  it  may  come  in  the  days 
of  Herluin  the  Steward,  if  he  live  long  enough." 

'■  What  do  you  mean,  you  incarnate  fiend,  only  fit  to  worship 
Thor  and  Odin  ?  "  asked  Brand. 

'•  That  I  would  burn  Goldenborough,  and  Herluin  the  Steward 
within  it,  ere  I  die.  I  fear  I  shall  do  it :  I  fear  I  must  do  it. 
Ten  years  ago  come  Lammas,  Herluin  bade  light  the  peat-stack 
under  me.     Do  you  recollect  ?  " 


30  HEREWARD,   THE   LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH. 

"  And  so  he  did,  the  hound  !  "  quoth  Brand.  "  I  had  forgot- 
ten that." 

'-  Little  Flereward  never  forgets  foe  or  friend.  Ever  since,  on 
Lammas  night,  —  hold  still,  horse  !  —  I  dream  of  fire  and  flame, 
and  of  Goldenborough  in  the  glare  of  it.  If  it  is  written  in  the 
big  book,  happen  it  must ;  if  not,  so  much  the  better  for  Golden- 
borough,  for  it  is  a  pretty  place,  and  honest  Englishmen  in  it. 
Only  see  that  there  be  not  too  many  Frenchmen  crept  in  when  I 
come  back,  beside  our  French  friend  Herluin ;  and  see,  too,  that 
there  be  not  a  peat-stack  handy :  a  word  is  enough  to  wise  men 
like  you.     Good  by  ! " 

"  God  help  thee,  thou  sinful  boy ! "  said  the  Abbot. 

"  Hereward,  Hereward  !     Come  back  !  "  cried  Brand. 

But  the  boy  had  spurred  his  horse  through  the  gateway,  and 
was  far  down  the  road. 

"  Leofric,  my  friend,"  said  Brand,  sadly,  "  this  is  my  sin,  and 
no  man's  else.  And  heavy_  penance  will  I  do  for  it,  till  that  lad 
returns  in  peace." 

"  Your  sin  ?  " 

"  Mine,  Abbot.  I  persuaded  his  mother  to  send  him  hither  to 
be  a  monk.  Alas !  alas !  How  long  will  men  try  to  be  wiser 
than  Him  who  maketh.men?" 

"  I  do  not  understand  thee,"  quoth  the  Abbot.  And  no  more 
he  did. 

It  was  four  o'clock  on  a  May  morning,  when  Hereward  set 
out  to  see  the  world,  with  good  armor  on  his  back,  good  weapon 
by  his  side,  good  horse  between  his  knees,  and  good  money  in  his 
purse.  What  could  a  lad  of  eighteen  want  more,  who  under  the 
harsh  family  rule  of  those  times  had  known  nothing  of  a  father's, 
and  but  too  little  of  a  mother's,  love?  He  rode  away  northward 
through  the  Bruneswald,  over  the  higher  land  of  Lincolnshire, 
through  primeval  glades  of  mighty  oak  and  ash,  holly  and  thorn, 
swarming  with  game,  which  was  as  highly  preserved  then  as 
now,  under  Canute's  severe  forest  laws.  The  yellow  roes  stood 
and  stared  at  him  knee-deep  in  the  young  fern ;  the  pheasant 
called  his  hens  out  to  feed  in  the  dewy  grass  ;  the  blackbird  and 
thrush  sung  out  from  every  bough ;  the  wood-lark  trilled  above 
the  high  oak-tops,  and  sank  down  on  them  as  his  song  sank  down. 
And  Hereward  rode  on,  rejoicing  in  it  all.  It  was  a  fine  world 
in  the  Bruneswald.  What  was  it  then  outside  ?.>  Not  to  him,  as 
to  us,  a  world  circular,  sailed  I'ound,  circumscribed,  mapped,  bot- 
anized, zoologized ;  a  tiny  planet  about  which  everybody  knows, 
or  thinks  they  know  everything:  but  a  world  infinite,  magical, 
supernatural,  —  because  unknown;  avast  flat  plain  reaching  no 
one  knew  whence  or  where,  save  that  the  mountains  stood  on  the 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       31 

four  corners  thereof  to  keep  it  steady,  and  the  four  winds  of 
hea\  en  blew  out  of  them ;  and  in  the  centre,  which  was  to  him 
the  Bruneswald,  such  things  as  he  saw ;  but  beyond,  things  un- 
speakable, —  dragons,  giants,  rocs,  ores,  witch-whales,  griffins, 
chimeras,  satyrs,  enchanters,  paynims,  Saracen  Emirs  and  Sul- 
tans, Kaisers  of  Constantinople,  Kaisers  of  Ind  and  of  Cathay, 
and  beyond  them  again  of  lands  as  yet  unknown.  At  the  very 
least  he  could  go  to  Brittany,  to  the  forest  of  Brocheliaunde, 
where  (so  all  men  said)  fairies  might  be  seen  bathing  in  the 
fountains,  and  possibly  be  won  and  wedded  by  a  bold  and  dex- 
terous knight  after  the  fashion  of  Sir  Gruelan.*  What  was 
there  not  to  be  seen  and  conquered  ?  Where  would  he  go  ? 
Where  would  he  not  go  ?  For  the  spii'it  of  Odin  the  Goer,  the 
spirit  which  has  sent  his  children  round  the  world,  was  strong 
within  him.  He  would  go  to  Ireland,  to  the  Ostmen,  or  Irish 
Danes  men  at  Dublin,  Waterford,  or  Cork,  and  marry  some 
beautiful  Irish  Princess  with  gray  eyes,  and  raven  locks,  and 
saffron  smock,  and  great  gold  bracelets  from  her  native  hills. 
No ;  he  would  go  off  to  the  Orkneys,  and  join  Bruce  and  Ra- 
nald, and  the  Vikings  of  the  northern  seas,  and  all  the  hot  blood 
which  had  found  even  Norway  too  hot  to  hold  it ;  and  sail 
through  witch-whales  and  icebergs  to  Iceland  and  Greenland, 
and  the  sunny  lands  which  they  said  lay  even  beyond,  across  the 
all  but  unknown  ocean.  He  would  go  up  the  Baltic  to  the  Joms- 
burg  Vikings,  and  fight  against  Lett  and  Esthonian  heathen,  and 
pierce  inland,  perhaps,  through  Puleyn  and  the  bison  forests,  to 
the  land  from  whence  came  the  magic  swords  and  the  old  Persian 
coins  which  he  had  seen  so  often  in  the  halls  of  his  forefathers. 
No ;  he  would  go  South,  to  the  land  of  sun  and  wine  ;  and  see 
the  magicians  of  Cordova  and  Seville  ;  and  beard  Mussulman 
hounds  worshipping  their  Mahomets ;  and  perhaps  bring  home 
an  Emir's  daughter, — 

"  With  more  ^ay  gold  about  her  middle, 
Than  would  buy  half  Northumberlee." 

Or  he  would  go  up  the  Straits,  and  on  to  Constantinople  and  the 
great  Kaiser  of  the  Greeks,  and  join  the  Varanger  Guard,  and 
perhaps,  like  Harold  Hardraade  in  his  own  days,  after  being  cast 
to  the  lion  for  carrying  off  a  fair  Greek  lady,  tear  out  the  mon- 
ster's tongue  with  his  own  hands,  and  show  the  Easterns  what 
a  Viking's  son  could  do.  And  as  he  dreamed  of  the  infinite 
world  and  its  infinite  wonders,  the  enchanters  he  might  meet,  the 

*  Wace,  author  of  the  "  Roman  de  Rou;"  went  to  Brittany  a  generation  later, 
to  see  those  same  fairies:  but  had  no  sport;  and  sang,  — 

"  Fol  i  alai,  fol  m'en  ravins; 
Folie  quis,  per  fol  me  tins." 


32  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF   THE  ENGLISH. 

jewels  he  might  find,  the  adventures  he  might  essay,  he  held 
that  he  must  succeed  in  all,  with  hope  and  wit  and  a  strong 
arm ;  and  forgot  altogether  that,  mixed  up  with  the  cosmogony 
of  an  infinite  fiat  plain  called  the  Earth,  there  was  joined  also 
the  belief  in  a  flat  roof  above  called  Heaven,  on  which  (seen 
at  times  in  visions  through  clouds  and  stars)  sat  saints,  angels, 
and  archangels,  forevermore  harping  on  their  golden  harps,  and 
knowing  neither  vanity  nor  vexation  of  spirit,  lu^t  nor  pride, 
murder  nor  war ;  —  and  underneath  a  floor,  the  name  whereof 
was  Hell ;  the  mouths  whereof  (as  all  men  knew)  might  be 
seen  on  Hecla  and  ^tna  and  Stromboli ;  and  the  fiends  heard 
within,  tormenting,  amid  fire,  and  smoke,  and  clanking  chams, 
the  souls  of  the  eternally  lost. 

As  he  rode  on  slowly  though  cheerfully,  as  a  man  who  will  not 
tire  his  horse  at  the  beginning  of  a  long  day's  journey,  and  knows 
not  where  he  shall  pass  the  nigiit,  he  was  aware  of  a  man  on  foot 
coming  up  behind  him  at  a  slow,  steady,  loping,  wolf-like  trot, 
which  in  spite  of  its  slowness  gained  ground  on  him  so  fast,  that 
he  saw  at  once  that  the  man  could  be  no  common  runner. 

Tlie  man  came  up ;  and  behold,  he  was  none  other  than  Martin 
Lightfoot. 

"  What !  art  thou  here  ?  "  asked  Hereward,  suspiciously,  and 
half  cross  at  seeing  any  visitor  from  the  old  world  which  he  had 
just  cast  off.     "  How  gottest  thou  out  of  St.  Peter's  last  night  ?  " 

Martin's  tongue  was  hanging  out  of  his  mouth  like  a  running 
hound's,  but  he  seemed,  like  a  hound,  to  perspire  through  his 
mouth,  for  he  answered  without  tlie  least  sign  of  distress,  without 
even  pulling  in  his  tongue,  — 

"  Over  the  wall,  the  moment  the  .Prior's  back  was  turned.  I 
was  not  going  to  wait  till  I  was  chained  up  in  some  rat's-hole  with 
a  half-hundred  of  iron  on  my  leg,  and  flogged  till  I  confessed  that 
I  was  what  I  am  not,  — a  runaway  monk." 

"  And  why  art  here  ?  " 

"  Because  I  am  going  with  you." 

"  Going  with  toe  ?  "  said  Hereward  ;  "  what  can  I  do  for  thee  ?  " 

"  I  can  do  for  you,"  said  Martin. 

"What?" 

"  Groom  your  horse,  wash  your  shirt,  clean  your  weapons,  find 
your  inn,  fight  your  enemies,  cheat  your  friends,  —  anything  and 
everything.  You  are  going  to  see  the  world.  I  am  going  with 
you." 

"Thou  canst  be  my  servant?  A  right  slippery  one,  I  expect," 
said  Hereward,  looking  down  on  him  with  some  suspicion. 

"  Some  are  not  the  rogues  they  seem.  I  can  keep  my  secrets 
and  yours  too." 

# 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.        33 

"Before  I  can  trust  thee  with  ray  secrets,  I  shall  expect  to 
know  some  of  thine,"  said  Ilereward. 

Martin  Lightfoot  looked  up  with  a  cunning  smile.  "  A  servant 
can  always  know  his  master's  secrets  if  he  likes.  But  that  is  no 
reason  a  master  should  know  his  servant's." 

"  Thou  shalt  tell  me  thine,  man,  or  I  shall  ride  off  and  leave 
thee." 

"  Not  so  easy,  my  lord.  Where  that  heavy  horse  can  go, 
Martin  Lightfoot  can  follow.  But  I  will  tell  you  one  secret, 
which  I  never  told  to  living  man.  I  can  read  and  write  like  any 
clerk." 

"  Thou  read  and  write  ?  " 

"Ay,  good  Latin  enough,  and  Irish  too,  what  is  more.  And 
now,  because  I  love  you,  and  because  you  I  will  serve,  willy  nilly, 
I  will  tell  you  all  the  secrets  I  have,  as  long  as  my  breath  lasts, 
for  my  tongue  is  rather  stiff  after  that  long  story  about  the  bell- 
wether. I  was  born  in  Ireland,  in  ^yaterford  town.  My  mother 
was  an  English  slave,  one  of  those  that  Earl  Godwin's  wife  — 
not  this  one  that  is  now,  Gyda,  but  the  old  one,  King  Canute's 
sister  —  used  to  sell  out  of  England  by  the  score,  tied  togetiier 
with  ropes,  boys  and  girls  from  Bristol  town.  Her  master,  my 
father  that  was  (I  shall  know  him  again),  got  tired  of  her,  and 
wanted  to  give  her  away  to  one  of  his  kernes.  She  would  not 
have  that ;  so  he  hung  her  up  hand  and  foot,  and  beat  her  that 
she  died.  There  was  an  abbey  hard  by,  and  the  Church  laid  on 
him  a  penance,  —  all  that  they  dared  get  out  of  him,  —  that  he 
should  give  me  to  the  monks,  being  then  a  seven-years'  boy. 
Well,  I  grew  up  in  that  abbey ;  they  taught  me  my  fa  fa  mi  fa : 
but  I  liked  better  conning  of  ballads  and  hearing  stories  of  ghosts 
and  enchanters,  such  as  I  used  to  tell  you.  I  '11  tell  you  plenty 
more  whenever  you  're  tired.  Then  they  made  me  work  ;  and  that 
I  never  could  abide  at  all.  Then  they  beat  me  every  day  ;  and 
that  I  could  abide  still  less  ;  but  always  I  stuck  to  my  book,  for 
one  thing  I  saw,  —  that  learning  is  power,  my  lord ;  and  that  the 
reason  why  the  monks  are  masters  of  the  land  is,  they  are  schol- 
ars, and  you  fighting  men  are  none.  Then  I  fell  in  love  (as 
young  blood  will)  with  an  Irish  lass,  when  I  was  full  seventeen 
years  old  ;  and  when  they  found  out  that,  they  held  me  -down  on 
the  floor  and  beat  me  till  I  was  wellnigh  dead.  They  put  me  in 
prison  for  a  month ;  and  between  bread-and-water  and  darkness 
I  went  nigh  foolish.  They  let  me  out,  thinking  I  could  do  no 
more  harm  to  man  or  lass ;  and  when  I  found  out  how  profitable 
folly  was,  foolish  I  remained,  at  least  as  foolish  as  seemed  good 
to  me.  But  one  night  I  got  into  the  abbey  church,  stole  there- 
from that  which  I  have  with  me  now,  and  which  shall  serve  you 
2*  0 


34  HEREWARD,  THE   LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH. 

and  me  in  good  stead  yet,  —  out  and  away  aboard  a  ship  among 
tlie  bu^carles,  and  off  into  the  Norway  sea.  But  after  a  voyage  or 
two,  so  it  befell,  I  was  wrecked  in  the  Wash  by  Botulfston  Deeps, 
and,  begging  my  way  inland,  met  with  your  father,  and  took  ser- 
vice with  him,  as  I  have  taken  service  now  with  you." 

"  Now,  what  has  made  thee  take  service  with  me  ?  " 

"  Becau.-e  you  are  you." 

"  Give  me  none  of  your  parables  and  dark  sayings,  but  speak 
out  like  a  man.  What  canst  see  in  me  that  thou  shouldest  share 
an  outlaw's  fortune  with  me  ?  " 

"  I  had  run  away  from  a  monastery,  so  had  you ;  I  hated  the 
monks,  so  did  you  ;  I  liked  to  tell  stories,  —  since  I  found  good 
to  shut  my  mouth  I  tell  them  to  myself  all  day  long,  sometimes 
all  night  too.  When  I  found  out  3'ou  liked  to  hear  them,  I  loved 
you  all  the  more.  Then  they  told  me  not  to  speak  to  you  ;  I 
held  my  tongue.  I  bided  my  time.  I  knew  you  would  be  out- 
lawed some  day.  I  knew  you  would  turn  Viking  and  kempery- 
man,  and  kill  giants  and  enchanters,  and  win  yourself  honor  and 
glory ;  and  I  knew  I  should  have  my  share  in  it.  I  knew  you 
would  need  me  some  day ;  and  you  need  me  now,  and  here  I  am ; 
and  if  you  try  to  cut  rae  down  witli  your  sword,  I  will  dodge  you, 
and  follow  you,  and  dodge  you  again,  till  I  force  you  to  let  me  be 
your  man,  for  with  you  1  will  live  and  die.  And  now  I  can  talk 
no  more." 

"And  with  me  thou  shalt  live  and  die,"  said  Hereward,  pulling 
np  his  horse,  and  frankly  holding  out  his  hand  to  his  new  friend. 

Martin  Liglitfoot  took  his  hand,  kissed  it,  licked  it  almost  as  a 
dog  would  have  done.  ''  I  am  your  man,"  he  said.  "  Amen  ; 
and  true  man  I  will  prove  to  you,  if  you  will  prove  true  to  me." 
And  he  dropped  quietly  back  behind  Hereward's  horse,  as  if  the 
business  of  his  life  was  settled,  and  his  mind  utterly  at  rest. 

"  There  is  one  more  likeness  between  us,"  said  Hereward,  after 
a  few  minutes'  thought.  "  If  I  have  robbed  a  church,  thou  hast 
robbed  one  too.  What  is  this  precious  spoil  which  is  to  serve  me 
and  thee  in  such  mighty  stead  ?  " 

Martin  drew  from  inside  his  shirt  and  under  his  waistband  a 
small  battle-axe,  and  handed  it  up  to  Hereward.  It  was  a  tool 
the  like  of  which  in  shape  Hereward  had  seldom  seen,  and 
never  its  equal  in  beauty.  The  handle  was  some  fifteen  inches 
long,  made  of  thick  strips  of  black  whalebone,  curiously  bound 
with  silver,  and  butted  with  narwhal  ivory.  This  handle  was 
evidently  the  work  of  some  cunning  Norseman  of  old.  But  who 
was  the  maker  of  the  blade  ?  It  was  some  eight  inches  long, 
with  a  sharp  edge  on  one  side,  a  sharp  crooked  pick  on  the  other ; 
of  the  finest  steel,  inlaid  with  strange  characters  in  gold,  the  work 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  35 

probably  of  some  Circassian,  Tartar,  or  Persian ;  such  a  battle- 
axe  as  Rustuni  or  Zohrab  may  have  wielded  in  fight  upon  the 
banks  of  Oxus ;  one  of  those  magic  weapons,  brought',  men 
knew  not  how,  out  of  the  magic  East,  which  were  hereditary  in 
many  a  Norse  family  and  sung  of  in  many  a  Norse  saga. 

"  Look  at  it,"  said  Martin  Lightfoot.  "  There  is  magic  on  it. 
It  must  bring  us  luck.  Whoever  holds  that  must  kill  his  man. 
It  will  pick  a  lock  of  steel.  It  will  crack  a  mail  corslet  as  a  nut- 
hatch cracks  a  nut.  It  will  hew  a  lance  in  two  at  a  single  blow. 
Devils  and  spirits  forged  it,  —  I  know  that ;  Virgilius  the  En- 
chanter, perhaps,  or  Solomon  the  Great,  or  whosoever's  name  is 
on  it,  graven  there  in  letters  of  gold.  Handle  it,  feel  its  bal- 
ance ;  but  no,  —  do  not  handle  it  too  much.  There  is  a  devil  in  it, 
who  would  make  you  kill  me.  Whenever  I  play  with  it  I  long 
to  kill  a  man.  It  would  be  so  easy,  —  so  easy.  Gi\e  it  me  back, 
my  lord,  give  it  me  back,  lest  the  devil  come  through  the  handle 
into  your  palm,  and  possess  you." 

Hereward  laughed,  and  gave  him  back  his  battle-axe.  But  he 
had  hardly  less  doubt  of  the  magic  virtues  of  such  a  blade  than 
had  Martin  himself 

"  Magical  or  not,  thou  wilt  not  have  to  hit  a  man  twice  with 
that,  Martin,  my  lad.  So  we  two  outlaws  are  both  well  armed ; 
and  having  neither  wife  nor  child,  land  nor  beeves  to  lose,  ought 
to  be  a  match  for  any  six  honest  men  who  may  have  a  grudge 
against  us,  and  sound  reasons  at  home  for  running  away." 

And  so  those  two  went  northward  through  the  green  Brunes- 
wald,  and  northward  again  through  merry  Sherwood,  and  were 
not  seen  in  that  land  again  for  many  a  year. 


CHAPTER    II. 

HOW  HEREWARD   SLEW   THE   BEAR. 

Of  Hereward's  doings  for  the  next  few  months  naught  is  known. 
He  may  very  likely  have  joined  Siward  in  the  Scotch  war.  He 
may  have  looked,  wondering,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  upon 
the  bones  of  the  old  world,  where  they  rise  at  Dunkeld  out  of  the 
lowlands  of  the  Tay ;  and  have  trembled  lest  the  black  crags  of 
Birnam  should  topple  on  his  head  with  all  their  pines.  He  may 
have  marched  down  from  that  famous  leaguer  with  the  Gospatricks 
and  Dolfins,  and  the  rest  of  the  kindred  of  Crinan  (abthane  or 
abbot,  —  let  antiquaries  decide),  —  of  Dunkeld,  and  of  Duncan, 
•  and  of  Siward,  and  of  the  outraged  Sibilla.  He  may  have  helped 
himself  to  bring  Birnam  Wood  to  Dunsinane,  "  on  the  day  of  the 
Seven  Sleepers,"  and  heard  Siward,  when  his  son  Asbiorn's  corpse 
was  carried  into  camp,*  ask  only,  "  Has  he  all  his  wounds  in 
front?"  He  may  have  seen  old  Siward,  after  Macbeth's  defeat 
(not  death,  as  Shakespeare  relates  the  story),  go  back  to  Northum- 
bria  "with  such  booty  as  no  man  had  obtained  before,"  —  a  proof, 
if  the  fact  be  fact,  that  the  Scotch  lowlands  were  not,  in  the 
eleventh  century,  the  poor  and  barbarous  country  which  some 
have  reported  them  to  have  been. 

All  this  is  not  only  possible,  but  probable  enough,  the  dates 
considered  :  the  chroniclers,  however,  are  silent.  They  only  say 
that  Hereward  was  in  those  days  beyond  Northumberland  with 
Gisebert  of  Glient. 

Gisebert,  Gislebert.  Gilbert,  Guibert,  Goisbricht,  of  Ghent, 
who  afterwards  owned,  by  chance  of  war,  many  a  fair  manor 
about  Lincoln  city,  was  one  of  those  valiant  Flemings  who  set- 
tled along  the  east  and  northeast  coast  of  Scotland  in  the  eleventh 
century.  They  fought  with  the  Celtic  princes,  and  then  married 
with  their  daughters ;  got  to  themselves  lands  "  by  the  title-deed 
of  the  sword";  and  so  became  —  the  famous  "  Freskin  the  Flem- 
ing "  especially  —  the  ancestors  of  the  finest  aristocracy,  both 
physically  and  intellectually,  in  the  world.     They  had  their  con- 

*  Shakespeare  makes  yonng  Siward  his  son.  He,  too,  was  slain  in  the  bat> 
tie:  but  he  was  ijiward's  nephew. 


HEREWARD,  TIIE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  37 

nections,  moreover,  with  the  Norman  ronrt  of  Rouen,  through  the 
Duches?  Matilda,  daughter  of  their  old  Seigneur,  Baldwin,  Mar- 
quis of  Flanders ;  their  connections,  too,  with  the  English  Court, 
through  Countess  Judith,  wife  of  Earl  Tosti  Godwinsson,  another 
daughter  of  Baldwin's.  Their  friendship  was  sought,  their  en- 
mity feared,  far  and  wide  throughout  the  north.  They  seem  to 
have  been  civilizers  and  cultivators  and  traders,  —  with  the  in- 
stinct of  true  Flemings,  —  as  well  as  conquerors  ;  they  were  in 
those  very  days  bringing  to  order  and  tillage  the  rich  lands  of  the 
northeast,  from  the  Frith  of  Moray  to  that  of  Forth;  and  forming 
a  rampart  for  Scotland  against  the  invasions  of  Sweyn,  Hardra- 
ade,  and  all  the  wild  Vikings  of  the  northern  seas. 

Amongst  them,  in  those  days,  Gilbert  of  Ghent  seems  to  have 
been  a  notable  personage,  to  judge  from  the  great  house  which 
he  kept,  and  the  "milites  tyrones,"  or  squires  in  training  for  the 
honor  of  knighthood,  who  fed  at  his  table.  Where  he  lived,  the 
chroniclers  report  not.  To  them  the  country  "  ultra  Northum- 
briam,"  beyond  the  Forth,  was  as  Russia  or  Cathay,  where 

"  Geographers  on  pathless  downs 
Pat  elephants  for  want  of  towns." 

As  indeed  it  was  to  that  French  map-maker  who,  as  late  as  the 
middle  of  the  eighteenth  century  (not  having  been  to  Aberdeen 
or  Elgin),  leaves  all  the  country  north  of  the  Tay  a  blank,  with 
the  inscription :  "  Terre  inculte  et  sauvage,  habitee  par  les  Hig- 
landers." 

Wherever  Gilbert  lived,  however,  he  heard  that  Hereward 
was  outlawetl,  and  sent  for  him,  says  the  story.  And  there  he 
lived,  doubtless  happily  enough,  fighting  Highlanders  and  hunt- 
ing deer,  so  that  as  yet  the  pains  and  penalties  of  exile  did  not 
press  very  hardly  upon  him.  The  handsome,  petulant,  good- 
humored  lad  had  become  in  a  few  weeks  the  darling  of  Gilbert's 
ladies,  and  the  envy  of  all  his  knights  and  gentlemen.  Here 
ward  the  singer,  harp-player,  dancer,  Hereward  the  rider  and 
hunter,  was  in  all  mouths ;  but  he  himself  was  discontented  at 
having  as  yet  fallen  in  with  no  adventure  worthy  of  a  man,  and 
looked  curiously  and  longingly  at  the  menagerie  of  wild  beasts 
enclosed  in  strong  wooden  cages,  which  Gilbert  kept  in  one 
corner  of  the  great  court-yard,  not  for  any  scientific  purposes, 
but  to  try  with  them,  at  Christmas,  Easter,  and  Whitsuntide,  the 
mettle  of  the  young  gentlemen  who  were  candidates  for  the 
honor  of  knighthood.  But  after  looking  over  the  bulls  and  stags, 
wolves  and  bears,  Hereward  settled  it  in  his  mind  that  there  was 
none  worthy  of  his  steel,  save  one  huge  white  bear,  whom  no 
man  had  yet  dared  to  face,  and  whom  Hereward,  indeed,  had 


38       HEREWAED,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

never  seen,  hidden  as  he  wa:=!  all  day  within  the  old  oven-shaped 
Pict's  house  of  stone,  which  had  been  turned  into  his  den. 
There  was  a  mystery  about  the  uticanny  brute  which  charmed 
Hereward.  He  was  said  to  be  half-human,  perhaps  wholly  hu- 
man ;  to  be  the  son  of  the  Fairy  Bear,  near  kinsman,  if  not 
uncle  or  cousin,  of  Siward  Digre.  He  had,  like  his  fairy  father, 
iron  claws ;  he  had  human  intellect,  and  understood  human 
speecli,  and  the  arts  of  war,  —  at  least  so  all  in  the  place  be- 
lieved, and  not  as  absurdly  as  at  first  sight  seems. 

For  the  brown  bear,  and  much  more  the  white,  was,  ^mong 
the  Northern  nations,  in  himself  a  creature  magical  and  super- 
human. "  He  is  God's  dog,"  whispered  the  Lapp,  and  called 
him  "  the  old  man  in  the  fur  cloak,"  afraid  to  use  his  right  name, 
even  inside  the  tent,  for  fear  of  his  overhearing  and  avenging 
the  insult.  "  He  has  twelve  men's  strength,  and  eleven  men's 
wit,"  sang  the  Norseman,  and  prided  himself  accordingly,  like 
a  true  Norseman,  on  outwitting  and  slaying  the  enchanted 
monster. 

Terrible  was  the  brown  bear :  but  more  terrible  "  the  white 
sea-deer,"  as  the  Saxons  called  him  ;  the  hound  of  Hrymir,  the 
whale's  bane,  the  seal's  dread,  the  rider  of  the  iceberg,  the  sailer 
of  the  floe,  who  ranged  for  his  prey  under  the  six  months'  night, 
lighted  by  Surtur's  fires,  even  to  the  gates  of  Muspelheim.  To 
slay  liim  was  a  feat  worthy  of  Beowulf's  self;  and  the  greatest 
wonder,  perhaps,  among  all  the  wealth  of  Crowland,  was  the 
twelve  white  bear-skins  which  lay  before  the  altars,  the  gift  of 
the  great  Canute.  How  Gilbert  had  obtained  his  white  bear, 
and  wh}'  he  kept  him  there  in  durance  vile,  was  a  mystery  over 
which  men  shook  their  heads.  Again  and  again  Hereward  asked 
his  host  to  let  him  try  his  strength  against  the  monster  of  the 
North.  Again  and  again  the  shrieks  of  the  ladies,  and  Gilbert's 
own  pity  for  the  stripling  youth,  brought  a  refusal.  But  Here- 
ward settled  it  in  his  heart,  nevertheless,  that  somehow  or  other, 
when  Christmas  time  came  round,  he  would  extract  from  Gilbert, 
drunk  or  sober,  leave  to  fight  that  bear ;  and  then  either  make 
himself  a  name,  or  die  like  a  man. 

Meanwhile  Hereward  made  a  friend.  Among  all  the  ladies 
of  Gilbert's  household,  however  kind  they  were  inclined  to  be 
to  him,  he  took  a  fancy  but  to  one,  —  and  that  was  to  a  little 
girl  of  eight  years  old.  Alftruda  was  her  name.  He  liked  to 
amuse  himself  with  this  child,  without,  as  he  fancied,  any  danger 
of  falling  in  love  ;  for  already  his  dreams  of  love  were  of  the 
highest  and  most  fantastic ;  and  an  Emir's  daughter,  or  a  Prin- 
cess of  Constantinople,  were  the  very  lowest  game  at  which  he 
meant  to  fly.     Alftruda  was  beautiful,  too,  exceedingly,  and  pre- 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.        39 

cocious,  and,  it  mny  be,  vain  enous:h  to  repay  his  attentions  in 
good  earnest.  Moreover  she  was  English  as  he  was,  and  royal 
likewise  ;  a  relation  of  Elfgiva,  daughter  of  Ethelred,  once  King 
of  England,  who,  as  all  know,  marrii^d  Uchtred,  prince  of  North- 
umberland and  grandfather  of  Gospatrick,  P2arl  of  Northumber- 
land, and  ancestor  of  all  the  Dunbars.  Between  the  English 
lad  then  and  the  English  maiden  grew  up  in  a  few  weeks  an 
innocent  friendship,  which  had  almost  become  more  than  friend 
ship,  through  the  intervention  of  the  Fairy  Bear. 

For  as  Hereward  was  coming  in  one  afternoon  from  hunting, 
hawk  on  fist,  Avith  Martin  Lightfoot  trotting  behind,  crane  and 
heron,  duck  and  hare,  slung  over  his  shoulder,  on  reaching  the 
court-yard  gates  he  was  aware  of  screams  and  shouts  within, 
tumult  and  terror  among  man  and  beast.  Hei'eward  tried  to 
force  his  horse  in  at  the  gate.  The  beast  stopped  and  turned, 
snorting  with  fear;  and  no  wonder;  for  in  the  midst  of  the 
court-yard  stood  the  Fairy  Bear ;  his  white  mane  bristled  up 
till  he  seemed  twice  as  big  as  any  of  the  sober  brown  bears 
which  Hereward  yet  had  seen  :  his  long  snake  neck  and  cruel. 
visage  wreathed  about  in  search  of  prey.  A  dead  horse,  its  back 
broken  by  a  single  blow  of  the  paw,  and  two  or  three  writhing 
dogs,  showed  that  the  beast  had  turned  (like  too  many  of  his 
human  kindred)  "  Berserker."  The  court-yard  was  utterly  emp- 
ty :  but  from  the  ladies'  bower  came  shrieks  and  shouts,  not  only 
of  women,  but  of  men  ;  and  knocking  at  the  bower  door,  adding 
her  screams  to  those  inside,  was  a  little  white  figure,  which  Here- 
ward recognized  as  Alftruda's.  They  had  barricaded  themselves 
inside,  leaving  the  child  out ;  and  now  dared  not  open  the  door, 
as  the  bear  swung  and  rolled  towards  it,  looking  savagely  right 
and  left  for  a  fresh  victim. 

Hereward  leaped  from  his  horse,  and,  drawing  his  sword,  rushed 
forward  with  a  shout  which  made  the  bear  turn  round. 

He  looked  once  back  at  the  child  ;  then  round  again  at  Here- 
ward :  and,  making  up  his  mind  to  take  the  largest  morsel  first, 
made  straight  at  him  with  a  growl  which  there  was  no  mistaking. 

He  was  within  two  ])aces;  then  he  rose  on  his  hind  legs,  a  head 
and  shoulders  taller  than  Hereward,  and  lifted  the  iron  talons 
high  in  air.  Hereward  knew  that  there  was  but  one  spot  at 
which  to  strike ;  and  he  struck  true  and  strong,  before  the  iron 
paw  could  fall,  right  on  the  muzzle  of  the  monster. 

He  heard  the  dull  crash  of  the  steel;  he  felt  the  sword  jammed 
tight.  He  shut  his  eyes  for  an  instant,  fearing  lest,  as  in  dreams, 
his  blow  had  come  to  naught ;  lest  his  sword  had  turned  aside,  or 
melted  like  water  in  his  hand,  and  the  next  moment  would  find 
him  crushed  to  earth,  blinded  and  stunned.     Something  tugged 


40  HEREWAED,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

at  his  sword.  He  opened  his  eyes,  and  saw  the  huge  carcasa 
bend,  reel,  roll  slowly  over  to  one  side  dead,  tearing  out  of  his 
hand  the  sword,  which  was  firmly  fixed  into  the  skull. 

Hereward  stood  awhile  staring  at  the  beast  like  a  man  aston- 
ished at  what  he  himself  had  done.  He  had  had  his  first  advent- 
ure, and  he  had  conquered.  He  was  now  a  champion  in  his  own 
right,  —  a  hero  of  the  heroes,  —  one  who  might  take  rank,  if  he 
went  on,  beside  Beowulf,  Frotho,  Ragnar  Lodbrog,  or  Harald 
Hadraade.  He  had  done  tliis  deed.  What  was  there  after  this 
which  he  miglit  not  do  ?  And  he  stood  there  in  the  fulness  of 
his  pride,  detiaiit  of  earth  and  heaven,  while  in  his  heart  arose 
the  thouglit  of  that  old  Viking  who  cried,  in  the  pride  of  his 
godlessness  :  "  I  never  on  earth  met  him  whom  I  feared,  and  why 
should  I  fear  Him  in  heaven  ?  If  I  met  Odin,  I  would  fight  with 
Odin.  If  Odin  were  the  stronger,  he  would  slay  me ;  if  I  were 
the  stronger,  1  would  slay  him."  And  there  he  stood,  staring,  and 
dreaming  over  renown  to  come,  —  a  true  pattern  of  the  half- 
savage  hero  of  those  rougli  times,  capable  of  all  vices  except 
cowardice,  and  capable,  too,  of  all  virtues  save  humility. 

"  Do  you  not  see,"  said  Martin  Lightfoot's  voice,  close  by, 
"that  there  is  a  fair  lady  ti-ying  to  thank  you,  while  you  are  so 
rude  or  so  proud  that  you  will  not  vouchsafe  her  one  look  ?" 

It  was  true.  Little  Alftruda  had  been  clinging  to  him  for  five 
minutes  past.  He  took  the  child  up  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her 
with  pure  kisses,  which  for  a  moment  softened,  his  hard  heart ; 
then,  setting  her  down,  he  turned  to  Martin. 

"  I  have  done  it,  Martin." 

"  Yes,  you  have  done  it ;  I  spied  you.  What  will  the  old  folks 
at  home  say  to  this  ?  " 

"  What  care  I  ?  " 

Martin  Lightfoot  shook  his  head,  and  drew  out  his  knife. 

"  What  is  that  for  ?  "  said  Hereward. 

"  When  the  master  kills  the  game,  the  knave  can  but  skin  it. 
We  may  sleep  warm  under  this  fur  in  many  a  cold  night  by  sea 
and  moor." 

"Nay,"  said  Hereward,  laughing;  "when  the  master  kills  the 
game  he  must  first  carry  it  liome.  Let  us  take  him  and  set  him 
up  against  the  bower  door  there,  to  astonish  the  brave  knights 
inside."  And  ,«tooping  down,  he  attempted  to  lift  the  huge  car- 
cass ;  but  in  vain.  At  last,  with  Martin's  help,  he  got  it  fairly  on 
his  shoulders,  and  the  two  dragged  their  burden  to  the  bower  and 
dashed  it  against  the  door,  shouting  with  all  their  might  to  those 
within  to  open  it. 

Windows,  it  must  be  remembered,  were  in  those  days  so  few 
and  far  between  that  the  folks  inside  had  remained  quite  unaware 
of  what  was  going  on  without. 


HEEEWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.        41 

The  door  was  opened  cautiously  enough ;  and  out  looked,  to 
the  shame  of  knighthood  be  it  said,  two  or  three  knights  who  had 
taken  shelter  in  the  bower  with  the  ladies.  Whatever  they  w^ere 
going  to  say  the  ladies  forestalled,  for,  rushing  out  across  the 
prostrate  bear,  they  overwhelmed  Hereward  with  praises,  thanks, 
and,  after  the  straightforward  custom  of  those  days,  with  substan- 
tial kisses. 

"You  must  be  knighted  at  once,"  cried  they.  "You  have 
knighted  yourself  by  that  single  blow." 

"A  pity,  then,"  said  one  of  the  knights  to  the  others,  "that 
he  had  not  given  that  accolade  to  himself,  instead  of  to  the 
bear." 

"  Unless  some  means  are  found,"  said  another,  "  of  taking  down 
this  boy's  conceit,  life  will  soon  be  not  worth  having  here." 

"  Either  he  must  take  ship,"  said  a  third,  "  and  look  for  ad- 
ventures elsewhere,  or  I  must." 

Martin  Lightfoot  heard  those  words ;  and  knowing  that  envy 
and  hatred,  like  all  other  vices  in  those  rough-hewn  times,  were 
apt  to  take  very  startling  and  unmistakeable  shapes,  kept  his  eye 
accordingly  on  those  three  knights. 

"  He  must  be  knighted,  —  he  shall  be  knighted,  as  soon  as  Sir 
Gilbert  comes  home,"  said  all  the  ladies  in  chorus. 

"  I  should  be  sorry  to  think,"  said  Hereward,  with  the  blunder- 
ing mock  humility  of  a  self-conceited  boy,  "  that  I  had  done  any- 
thing worthy  of  such  an  honor.  I  hope  to  win  my  spurs  by 
greater  feats  than  these." 

A  burst  of  laughter  from  the  knights  and  gentlemen  followed. 

"  How  loud  the  young  bantam  crows  after  his  first  little 
scuffle ! " 

"  Hark  to  him  !  What  will  he  do  next  ?  Eat  a  dragon  ?  Fly 
to  the  moon  ?     Marry  the  Sophy  of  Egypt's  daughter  ?  " 

This  last  touched  Hereward  to  the  quick,  for  it  was  just  what 
he  thought  of  doing ;  and  his  blood,  heated  enough  already,  beat 
quicker,  as  some  one  cried,  with  the  evident  intent  of  picking  a 
quarrel:  "That  was  meant  for  us.  If  the  man  who  killed  the 
bear  has  not  earned  knighthood,  what  must  we  be,  who  have  not 
killed  him  ?  You  understand  his  meaning,  gentlemen,  —  don't  for- 
get it ! " 

Hereward  looked  down,  and  setting  his  foot  on  th  bear's  head, 
wrenched  out  of  it  the  sword  which  he  had  left  till  now,  with 
pardonable  pride,  fast  set  in  the  skull. 

Martin  Lightfoot,  for  his  part,  drew  stealthily  from  his  bosom 
the  little  magic  axe,  keeping  his  eye  on  the  brain-pan  of  the  last 
speaker. 

The  lady  of  the  house  cried   "  Shame ! "    and  ordered  the 


42        HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

knights  away  with  haughty  words  and  gestures,  which,  because 
they  were  so  well  deserved,  only  made  the  quarrel  more  deadly. 

Then  she  commanded  Hereward  to  sheathe  his  sword. 

He  did  so;  and  turning  to  the  knights,  said  with  all  courtesy: 
"  You  mistake  me,  sirs.  You  were  wliere  brave  knights  should 
be,  within  the  beleaguered  fortress,  defending  the  ladies.  Had 
you  remained  outside,  and  been  eaten  by  the  bear,  what  must 
have  befallen  them,  had  he  burst  open  the  door  ?  As  lor  this 
little  lass,  whom  you  left  outside,  she  is  too  young  to  requite 
knight's  prowess  by  lady's  love ;  and  therefore  beneath  your 
attention,  and  only  fit  for  the  care  of  a  boy  like  me."  And 
taking  up  Alftruda  in  his  arms,  he  carried  her  in  and  disap- 
peared. 

Who  now  but  Hereward  was  in  all  men's  mouths  ?  The  min- 
strels made  ballads  on  him  ;  the  lasses  sang  his  praises  (says  the 
chronicler)  as  they  danced  upon  the  green.  Gilbert's  lady  would 
need  give  iiim  the  seat,  and  all  the  honors,  of  a  belted  knight, 
though  knight  he  was  none.  And  daily  and  weekly  the  valiant 
lad  grew  and  hardened  into  a  valiant  man,  and  a  courteous  one 
withal,  giving  no  offence  himself,  and  not  over  ready  to  take 
offence  at  other  men. 

The  knights  were  civil  enough  to  him,  the  ladies  more  than 
civil ;  he  hunted,  he  wrestled,  he  tilted ;  he  was  promised  a 
chance  of  fighting  for  glory,  as  soon  as  a  Highland  chief  should 
declare  war  against  Gilbert,  or  drive  off  his  cattle,  —  an  event 
which  (and  small  blame  to  the  Highland  chiefs)  happened  every 
six  months. 

No  one  was  so  well  content  with  himself  as  Hereward ;  and 
therefore  he  fancied  tliat  the  world  must  be  equally  content  with 
him,  and  he  was  much  disconcerted  when  Martin  drew  him  aside 
one  day,  and  whispered :  "  If  I  were  my  lord,  I  should  wear  a 
mail  shirt  under  my  coat  to-morrow  out  hunting." 

"What?" 

''The  arrow  that  can  go  through  a  deer's  blade-bone  can  go 
through  a  man's." 

'•  Who  should  harm  me  ?  " 

"  Any  man  of  the  dozen  who  eat  at  the  same  table." 

"  What  have  I  done  to  them  ?  If  I  liad  my  laugli  at  them, 
they  liad  their  laugh  at  me ;  and  we  are  quits." 

"There  is  another  score,  my  lord,  which  you  have  forgotten, 
and  that  is  all  on  your  side." 

"  Eh  ?  " 

"  You  killed  the  bear.  Do  you  expect  them  to  forgive  you 
that,  till  they  have  repaid  you  with  interest .'' " 

"Pish!" 


f^»9^ 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.        43 

"  You  do  not  want  for  wit,  my  lord.  Use  it,  and  think.  What 
right  has  a  little  boy  hke  you  to  come  here,  killing  bears  which 
grown  men  cannot  kill?  What  can  you  expect  but  just  punish- 
ment for  your  insolence,  —  say,  a  lance  between  your  shoulders 
while  you  stoop  to  drink,  as  Sigfried  had  for  daring  to  tame 
Brunhild?  And  more,  what  right  have  you  to  come  here,  and 
so  win  the  hearts  of  the  ladies,  that  the  lady  of  all  the  ladies 
should  say,  '  If  aught  happen  to  my  poor  boy,  —  and  he  cannot 
live  long,  —  I  would  adopt  Hereward  for  my  own  son,  and  show 
his  mother  what  a  fool  some  folks  think  her.'  So,  my  lord,  put 
on  your  mail  shirt  to-morrow,  and  take  care  of  narrow  ways,  and 
sharp  corners.  For  to-morrow  it  will  be  tried,  that  I  know, 
before  my  Lord  Gilbert  comes  back  from  the  Highlands ;  but 
by  whom  I  know  not,  and  care  little,  seeing  that  there  are 
half  a  dozen  in  the  house  who  would  be  glad  enough  of  the 
chance." 

Hereward  took  his  advice,  and  rode  out  with  three  or  four 
knights  the  next  morning  into  the  fir-forest ;  not  afraid,  but  an- 
gry and  sad.  He  was  not  yet  old  enough  to  estimate  the  viru- 
lence of  envy;  to  take  ingratitude  and  treachery  for  granted. 
He  was  to  learn  the  lesson  then,  as  a  wholesome  chastener  to  the 
pride  of  success.  He  was  to  learn  it  again  in  later  years,  as  an 
additional  bitterness  in  the  humiliation  of  defeat ;  and  find  out, 
as  does  many  a  man,  that  if  he  once  fall,  or  seem  to  fall,  a  hun- 
dred curs  spring  up  to  bark  at  him,  who  dared  not  open  their 
months  while  he  was  on  his  legs. 

So  they  rode  into  the  forest,  and  parted,  each  with  his  footman 
and  his  dogs,  in  search  of  boar  and  deer ;  and  each  had  his  sport 
without  meeting  again  for  some  two  hours  or  more. 

Hereward  and  Martin  came  at  last  to  a  narrow  gully,  a  mur- 
derous place  enough.  Huge  fir-trees  roofed  it  in,  and  made  a 
night  of  noon.  High  banks  of  earth  and  great  boulders  walled 
it  in  right  and  left  for  twenty  feet  above.  The  track,  what  with 
pack-horses'  feet,  and  what  with  the  wear  and  tear  of  five  hun- 
dred years'  rain-fall,  was  a  rut  three  feet  deep  and  two  feet 
broad,  in  which  no  horse  could  turn.  Any  other  day  Hereward 
would  have  cantered  down  it  with  merely  a  tightened  rein.  To- 
day he  turned  to  Martin  and  said,  — 

"  A  very  fit  and  proper  place  for  this  same  treason,  unless  you 
have  been  drinking  beer  and  thinking  beer." 

But  Martin  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

A  pebble  thrown  from  the  right  bank  struck  him,  and  he  looked 
up.  Martin's  face  was  peering  through  the  heather  overhead, 
his  finger  on  his  lips.  Then  he  pointed  cautiously,  first  up  the 
pass,  then  down. 


44       HEEEWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

Hereward  felt  that  his  sword  was  ]oo=;e  in  the  sheath,  and  then 
griped  his  lance,  with  a  heart  beatinir.  but  not  with  fear. 

The  next  moment  he  heard  the  rattle  of  a  horse's  hoofs  behind 
him ;  looked  back  ;  and  saw  a  knight  charging  desperately  down 
the  gully,  his  bow  in  hand,  and  arrow  drawn  to  the  head. 

To  turn  was  impossible.  To  stop,  even  to  walk  on,  was  to  be 
ridden  over  and  hurled  to  the  ground  helplessly.  To  gain  the 
mouth  of  the  gully,  and  then  turn  on  his  pursuer,  was  his  only 
chance.  For  the  first  and  almost  the  last  time  in  his  life,  he 
struck  spurs  into  his  horse,  and  ran  away.  As  he  went,  an  arrow 
struck  him  sharply  in  the  back,  piercing  the  corslet,  but  hardly 
entering  the  flesh.  As  he  neared  the  mouth,  two  other  knights 
crashed  their  horses  through  the  brushwood  from  right  and  left, 
and  stood  awaiting  him,  their  spears  ready  to  strike.  He  was 
caught  in  a  trap.  A  shield  might  have  saved  him ;  but  he  had 
none. 

He  did  not  flinch.  Dropping  his  reins,  and  driving  in  the 
spurs  once  more,  he  met  them  in  full  shock.  With  his  left  hand 
he  hurled  aside  the  left-hand  lance,  with  his  right  he  hurled  his 
own  with  all  his  force  at  the  right-hand  foe,  and  saw  it  pass  clean 
through  the  felon's  chest,  wliile  his  lance-point  dropped,  and 
passed  harmlessly  behind  his  knee. 

So  much  for  lances  in  front.  But  the  knight  behind  ?  Would 
not  his  sword  the  next  moment  be  through  his  brain  ? 

There  was  a  clatter,  a  crash,  and  looking  back  Hereward  saw 
horse  and  man  rolling  in  the  rut,  and  rolling  with  them  Martin 
Lightfoot.  He  had  already  pinned  the  felon  knight's  head  against 
the  steep  bank,  and,  with  uplifted  axe,  was  meditating  a  pick  at 
his  face  which  would  have  stopped  alike  his  love-making  and  his 
fighting. 

"  Hold  thy  hand,"  shouted  Hereward.  "  Let  us  see  who  he  is  ; 
and  remember  that  he  is  at  least  a  knight." 

"  But  one  that  will  ride  no  more  to-day.  I  finished  his  horse's 
going  as  I  rolled  down  the  bank." 

It  was  true.  He  had  broken  the  poor  beast's  leg  with  a  blow 
of  the  axe,  and  they  had  to  kill  the  horse  out  of  pity  ere  they  left. 

Martin  dragged  his  prisoner  forward. 

"  You  ?  "  cried  Hereward.  "  And  I  saved  your  life  three 
days  ago !  " 

The  knight  answered  nothing. 

"  You  will  have  to  walk  home.  Let  that  be  punishment 
enough  for  you,"  and  he  turned. 

"  He  will  have  to  ride  in  a  woodman's  cart,  if  he  have  the  luck 
to  find  one." 

The   third  kniglit  had  fled,  and  after  him  the   dead  man's 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       45 

horse.  Hereward  and  his  man  rode  home  in  peace,  and  the  third 
knight,  after  trying  vainly  to  walk  a  mile  or  two,  fell  and  lay,  and 
was  fain  to  fulfil  Martin's  prophecy,  and  be  brought  home  in  a 
cart,  to  carry  for  years  after,  like  Sir.  Lancelot,  the  nickname  of 
the  Chevalier  de  la  Charette. 

And  so  was  Hereward  avenged  of  his  enemies.  Judicial, 
even  private,  inquiry  into  the  matter  there  was  none.  That  gen- 
tlemen should  meet  in  the  forest  and  commit,  or  try  to  commit, 
murder  on  each  other's  bodies,  was  far  too  common  a  mishap  in 
the  ages  of  faith  to  stir  up  more  than  an  extra  gossiping  and 
cackling  among  the  women,  and  an  extra  cursing  and  thi-eaten- 
ing  among  the  men  ;  and  as  the  former  were  all  but  unanimously 
on  Hereward's  side,  his  plain  and  honest  story  was  taken  as  it 
stood. 

"  And  now,  fair  lady,"  said  Herewai'd  to  his  hostess,  "  I  must 
thank  you  for  all  your  hospitality,  and  bid  you  farewell  forever 
and  a  day." 

She  wept,  and  entreated  him  only  to  stay  till  her  lord  came 
back ;  but  Hereward  was  firm. 

"  You,  lady,  and  your  good  lord  will  I  ever  love  ;  and  at  your 
service  my  sword  shall  ever  be  :  but  not  here.  Ill  blood  I  will 
not  make.  Among  traitors  I  will  not  dwell.  I  have  killed  two 
of  them,  and  shall  have  to  kill  two  of  their  kinsmen  next,  and 
then  two  more,  till  you  have  no  knights  left ;  and  pity  that  would 
be.  No  ;  the  world  is  wide,  and  there  are  plenty  of  good  fellows 
in  it  who  will  welcome  me  without  forcing  me  to  wear  mail  under 
my  coat  out  hunting." 

And  he  armed  himself  cap-a-pie,  and  rode  away.  Great  was 
the  weeping  in  the  bower,  and  great  the  chuckling  in  the  hall : 
but  never  saw  they  Hereward  again  upon  the  Scottish  shore. 


CHAPTER    III. 

HOW  HEREWARD  SUCCORED  A  PRINCESS   OF  CORNWALL. 

The  next  place  in  which  Here  ward  appeared  was  far  away 
on  the  southwest,  upon  the  Cornish  shore.  How  he  came  there, 
or  after  how  long,  the  chronicles  do  not  say.  All  that  shall  be 
told  is,  that  he  went  into  port  on  board  a  merchant  ship  carrying 
wine,  and  intending  to  bring  back  tin.  The  merchants  had  told 
him  of  one  Alef,  a  valiant  "  regulus  "  or  kinglet  of  those  parts, 
Avho  was  indeed  a  distant  connection  of  Hereward  himself,  hav- 
ing married,  as  did  so  many  of  the  Celtic  princes,  the  daughter 
of  a  Danish  sea-rover,  of  Siward's  blood.  They  told  him  also 
that  the  kinglet  increased  his  wealth,  not  only  by  the  sale  of  tin 
and  of  red  cattle,  but  by  a  certain  amount  of  autumnal  piracy  in 
company  with  his  Danish  brothers-in-law  from  Dublin  and  Wa- 
terford  ;  and  Hereward,  who  believed,  with  most  Englishmen  of 
the  East  Country,  that  Cornwall  still  produced  a  fair  crop  of 
giants,  some  of  them  with  two  and  even  three  heads,  had  hopes 
that  Alef  might  show  him  some  adventure  worthy  of  his  sword. 
He  sailed  in,  therefore,  over  a  rolling  bar,  between  jagged  points 
of  black  rock,  and  up  a  tide  river  which  wandered  away  inland^^^ 
like  a  land-locked  lake,  between  high  green  walls  of  oak  and  ash, 
till  they  saw  at  the  head  of  the  tide  Alef 's  town,  nestling  in  a 
glen  which  sloped  towards  the  southern  sun.  They  discovered, 
besides,  two  ships  drawn  up  upon  the  beach,  whose  long  lines  and 
snake-heads,  beside  the  stoat  carved  on  the  beak-head  of  one  and 
the  adder  on  that  of  the  other,  bore  witness  to  the  piratical  habits 
of  their  owner.  The  merchants,  it  seemed,  were  well  known  to 
the  Cornishmen  on  shore,  and  Hereward  went  up  with  them 
unopposed  ;  past  the  ugly  dikes  and  muddy  leats,  where  Alef 's 
slaves  were  streaming  the  gravel  for  tin  ore  ;  through  rich  al- 
luvial pastures  spotted  with  red  cattle,  and  up  to  Alef 's  town. 
Earthworks  and  stockades  surrounded  a  little  church  of  ancient 
stone,  and  a  cluster  of  granite  cabins  thatched  with  turf,  in  which 
the  slaves  abode,  and  in  the  centre  of  all  a  vast  stone  barn,  with 
low  walls  and  high  sloping  roof,  which  contained  Alef 's  family, 
treasures,  lighting  tail,  horses,  cattle,  and  pigs.  They  entered  at 
one  end  between  the  pigsties,  passed  on  through  the  cow-stalls, 


HEREWAED,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.        47 

then  through  the  stables,  and  saw  before  them,  dim  through  the 
reek  of  thick  peat-smoke,  a  long  oaken  table,  at  which  sat  huge 
dark-haired  Cornishraen,  with  here  and  there  among  them  the 
yellow  head  of  a  Norseman,  who  were  Alef's  following  of  fighting 
men.  Boiled  meat  was  there  in  plenty,  barley  cakes,  and  ale. 
At  the  head  of  the  table,  on  a  high-backed  settle,  was  Alef  him- 
self, a  jolly  giant,  who  was  just  setting  to  work  to  drink  himself 
stupid  with  mead  made  from  narcotic  heather  honey.  By  his 
side  sat  a  lovely  dark-haired  girl,  with  great  gold  tores  upon  her 
throat  and  wrists,  and  a  great  gold  brooch  fastening  a  shawl 
which  had  plainly  come  from  the  looms  of  Spain  or  of  the  East  ; 
and  next  to  her  again,  feeding  her  with  titbits  cut  off  with  his 
own  dagger,  and  laid  on  barley  cake  instead  of  a  plate,  sat  a  more 
gigantic  personage  even  than  Alef,  the  biggest  man  that  Here- 
ward  had  ever  seen,  with  higli  cheek-bones,  and  small  ferret  eyes, 
looking  out  from  a  greasy  mass  of  bright  red  hair  and  beard. 

No  questions  were  asked  of  the  new-comers.  They  set  them- 
selves down  in  silence  in  empty  places,  and,  according  to  the  laws 
of  the  good  old  Cornish  hospitality,  were  allowed  to  eat  and  drink 
their  fill  before  they  spoke  a  word. 

"  Welcome  here  again,  friend,"  said  Alef  at  last,  in  good  enough 
Danish,  calling  the  eldest  merchant  by  name.  "  Do  you  bring 
wine  ?  " 

The  merchant  nodded. 

"  And  you  want  tin  ?  " 

The  merchant  nodded  again,  and  lifting  his  cup  drank  Alef's 
health,  following  it  up  by  a  coarse  joke  in  Cornish,  which  raised 
a  laugh  all  round. 

The  Norse  trader  of  those  days,  it  must  be  remembered,  was 
none  of  the  cringing  and  effeminate  chapmen  who  figure  in  the 
stories  of  the  Middle  Ages.  A  free  Norse  or  Dane,  himself  often 
of  noble  blood,  he  fought  as  willingly  as  he  bought ;  and  held  his 
own  as  an  equal,  whether  at  the  court  of  a  Cornish  kinglet  or  at 
that  of  the  Great  Kaiser  of  the  Greeks. 

"  And  you,  fair  sir,"  said  Alef,  looking  keenly  at  Hereward, 
"  by  what  name  shall  I  call  you,  and  wiiat  service  can  I  do  for 
you  ?  You  look  more  like  an  earl's  son  than  a  merchant,  and  are 
come  here  surely  for  other  things  besides  tin." 

"  Health  to  King  Alef,"  said  Hereward,  raising  the  cup.  "Who 
I  am  I  will  tell  to  none  but  Alef's  self;  but  an  earl's  son  I  am, 
though  an  outlaw  and  a  rover.  My  lands  are  the  breadth  of  my 
boot-sole.  My  plough  is  my  sword.  My  treasure  is  my  good 
right  hand.  Nothing  I  have,  and  nothing  I  need,  save  to  serve 
noble  kings  and  earls,  and  win  me  a  champion's  fame.  If  you 
have  battles  to  fight,  tell  me,  that  I  may  fight  them  for  you.     If 


48  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

you  have  none,  thank  God  for  his  peace ;  and  let  me  eat  and 
di-ink,  and  go  in  peace." 

"  Kir.g  Alef  needs  neither  man  nor  boy  to  fight  his  battle  as 
long  as  Ironhook  sits  in  his  hall." 

It  was  the  red-bearded  giant  who  spoke  in  a  broken  tongue, 
part  Scotch,  part  Cornish,  part  Danish,  which  Hereward  could 
hardly  understand ;  but  that  the  ogre  intended  to  insult  him  he 
understood  well  enough. 

Hereward  had  hoped  to  find  giants  in  Cornwall :  and  behold 
he  had  found  one  at  once ;  though  rather,  to  judge  from  his  looks, 
a  Pictish  than  a  Cornish  giant ;  and,  true  to  his  reckless  determi- 
nation to  defy  and  fight  every  man  and  beast  who  was  willing  to 
defy  and  fight  him,  he  turned  on  his  elbow  and  stared  at  Iron- 
hook  in  scorn,  meditating  some  speech  which  might  provoke  the 
hoped-for  quarrel. 

As  he  did  so  his  eye  happily  caught  that  of  the  fair  Princess. 
She  was  watching  him  with  a  strange  look,  admiring,  warning, 
imploring  ;  and  when  she  saw  that  he  noticed  her,  she  laid  her 
finger  on  her  lip  in  token  of  silence,  crossed  herself  devoutly,  and 
then  laid  her  finger  on  her  lips  again,  as  if  beseeching  him  to  be 
patient  and  silent  in  the  name  of  Him  who  answered  not  again. 

Hereward,  as  is  well  seen,  wanted  not  for  quick  wit,  or  for 
chivalrous  feeling.  He  had  observed  the  rough  devotion  of  the 
giant  to  the  Lady.  He  had  observed,  too,  that  she  shrank  from 
it ;  that  she  turned  away  with  loathing  when  he  offered  her  his 
own  cup,  while  he  answered  by  a  dark  and  deadly  scowl. 

Was  there  an  adventure  here  ?  Was  she  in  duress  either 
from  this  Ironhook  or  from  her  father,  or  from  both  ?  Did,  she 
need  Hereward's  help  ?  If  so,  she  was  so  lovely  that  he  could 
not  refuse '  it.  And  on  the  chance,  he  swallowed  down  his  high 
stomach,  and  answered  blandly  enough,  — 

"  One  could  see  without  eyes,  noble  sir,  that  you  were  w^orth 
any  ten  common  men  ;  but  as  every  one  has  not  like  you  the  luck 
of  so  lovely  a  lady  by  your  side,  I  thought  that  perchance  you 
might  hand  over  some  of  your  lesser  quarrels  to  one  like  me,  who 
has  not  yet  seen  so  much  good  fighting  as  yourself,  and  enjoy 
yourself  in  pleasant  company  at  home,  as  I  should  surely  do  in 
your  place." 

The  Princess  shuddered  and  turned  pale ;  then  looked  at 
Hereward  and  smiled  her  thanks.  Ironhook  laughed  a  savage 
laugh. 

Hereward's  jest  being  translated  into  Cornish  for  the  benefit 
of  the  company,  was  highly  approved  by  all ;  and  good  humor 
being  restored,  every  man  got  drunk  save  Hereward,  who  found 
the  mead  too  sweet  and  sickening. 


HEBEWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.        49 

After  which  those  who  could  go  to  bed  went  to  bed,  not  as  in 
England,*  among  the  rushes  on  the  floor,  but  in  the  bunks  or 
berths  of  wattle  which  stood  two  or  three  tiers  high  along  the 
wall. 

The  next  morning  as  Hereward  went  out  to  wash  his  face  and 
hands  in  the  brook  below  (he  being  the  only  man  in  the  house 
who  did  so),  Martin  Lightfoot  followed  him. 

"  What  is  it,  Martin  ?  Hast  thou  had  too  much  of  that  sweet 
mead  last  niglit  that  thou  must  come  out  to  cool  thy  head  too .'' " 

"  I  came  out  for  two  reasons,  —  first,  to  see  fair  play,  in  case 
that  Ironhook  should  come  to  wash  his  ugly  visage,  and  find  you 
on  all  fours  over  the  brook  —  you  understand  ?  And  next,  to  tell 
you  what  I  heard  last  night  among  the  maids." 

"  And  what  did  you  hear  ?  " 

"  Fine  adventures,  if  we  can  but  compass  them.  You  saw 
that  lady  with  the  carrot-headed  fellow.  I  saw  that  you  saw. 
Well,  if  you  will  believe  me,  that  man  has  no  more  gentle  blood 
than  I  have,  —  has  no  more  right  to  sit  on  the  settle  than  I.  He 
is  a  No-man's  son,  a  Pict  from  Galloway,  who  came  down  with 
a  pirate  crew  and  has  made  himself  the  master  of  this  drunken 
old  Prince,  and  the  darling  of  all  his  housecarles,  and  now  will 
needs  be  his  son-in-law  whether  he  will  or  not." 

"  I  thought  as  much,"  said  Hereward  ;  "  but  how  didst  thou 
find  out  this?" 

"  I  went  out  and  sat  with  the  knaves  and  the  maids,  and  lis- 
tened to  their  harp-playing,  and  harp  they  can,  these  Cornish, 
hke  very  elves  ;  and  then  I,  too,  sang  songs  and  told  them  stories, 
for  I  can  talk  their  tongue  somewhat,  till  they  all  blest  me  for  a 
right  good  fellow.  And  then  I  fell  to  praising  up  old  Ironhook 
to  the  women." 

"  Praising  him  up,  man  ?  " 

"  Ay,  just  because  I  suspected  him  ;  for  the  women  are  so 
contrary,  that  if  you  speak  evil  of  a  man  they  will  surely  speak 
good  of  him  ;  but  if  you  will  only  speak  good  of  him,  then  you 
will  hear  all  the  evil  of  him  he  ever  has  done,  and  more  beside. 
And  this  I  heard ;  that  the  King's  daughter  cannot  abide  him, 
and  would  as  lief  marry  a  seal." 

"  One  did  not  need  to  be  told  that,"  said  Hereward,  "  as  long 
as  one  has  eyes  in  one's  head.  I  will  kill  the  fellow,  and  carry 
her  off,  ere  four-and-twenty  hours  be  past." 

"  Softly,  softly,  my  young  master.  You  need  to  be  told  some- 
thing that  your  eyes  would  not  tell  you,  and  that  is,  that  the  poor 
lass  is  betrothed  already  to  a  son  of  old  King  Ranald  the  Ost- 

*  Cornwall  was  not  then  considered  part  of  England. 

8  D 


50  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

man,  of  Waterford,  son  of  old  King  Sigtryg,  who  ruled  there 
when  I  was  a  boy." 

"  He  is  a  kinsman  of  mine,  then,"  said  Hereward.  "  All  the 
more  reason  that  I  should  kill  this  ruffian." 

"  If  you  can,"  said  Martin  Lightfoot. 

"  If  I  can  ?  "  retorted  Hereward,  fiercely. 

"  Well,  well,  wilful  heart  must  have  its  way ;  only  take  my 
counsel :  speak  to  the  poor  young  lady  first,  and  see  what  she 
will  tell  you,  lest  you  only  make  bad  worse,  and  bring  down  her 
father  and  his  men  on  her  as  well  as  you." 

Hereward  agreed,  and  resolved  to  watch  his  opportunity  of 
speaking  to  the  princess. 

As  they  went  in  to  the  morning  meal  they  met  Alef.  He  was 
in  high  good  humor  with  Hereward ;  and  all  the  more  so  when 
Hereward  told  him  his  name,  and  how  he  was  the  son  of 
Leofric. 

"  I  will  warrant  you  are,"  he  said,  "  by  the  gray  head  you 
carry  on  green  shoulders.  No  discreeter  man,  they  say,  in  these 
isles  than  tJie  old  earl." 

"  You  speak  truth,  .sir,"  said  Hereward,  "  though  he  be  no 
father  of  mine  now  ;  for  of  Leofric  it  is  said  in  King  Edward's 
court,  that  if  a  man  ask  counsel  of  him,  it  is  as  though  he  had 
asked  it  of  the  oracles  of  God." 

"  Th<"n  you  are  his  true  son,  young  man.  I  saw  how  you  kept 
the  peace  with  Iroiihook,  and  I  owe  you  thanks  for  it;  for  though 
he  is  my  good  friend,  and  will  be  my  son-in-law  erelong,  yet  a 
quarrel  with  him  is  more  than  I  can  abide  just  now,  and  I  should 
not  like  to  have  seen  my  guest  and  my  kinsman  slain  in  my 
house." 

Hereward  would  have  said  that  he  thought  there  was  no  fear 
of  that :  but  he  prudently  held  his  tongue,  and  having  an  end 
to  gain,  listened  instead  of  talking. 

"  Twenty  years  ago,  of  course,  I  could  have  thrashed  him  as 
easily  as  — ;  but  now  I  am  getting  old  and  shaky,  and  the  man 
has  been  a  great  help  in  need.  Six  kings  of  these  parts  has  he 
killed  for  me,  who  drove  off  my  cattle,  and  stopped  my  tin  works, 
and  plundered  my  monks'  cells  too,  which  is  worse,  while  I  was 
away  sailing  the  seas;  and  he  is  a  right  good  fellow  at  heart, 
tiiougli  he  be  a  little  rough.  So  be  friends  with  him  as  long  as 
you  stay  here,  and  if  I  can  do  you  a  service  I  will." 

They  went  in  to  their  morning  meal,  at  which  Hereward 
resolved  to  koe{>  the  peace  which  he  longed  to  break,  and  there- 
fore, as  was  to  be  expected,  broke. 

For  during  the  meal  the  fair  lady,  with  no  worse  intention, 
perhaos,  than  that  of  teasing  her  tyrant,  fell  to  open  praises  of 


HERE  WARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH.  51 

Hereward's  fair  face  and  jG;olden  hair ;  and  being  insulted  tliere- 
for  by  the  Ironhoolc,  retaliated  by  observations  about  his  jier- 
sonal  appearance,  whicli  were  more  common  in  the  eleventh 
century  than  they  happily  are  now.  He,  to  comfort  himself, 
drank  deep  of  the  French  wine  which  had  just  been  brought  and 
broached,  and  then  went  out  into  the  court-yard,  where,  in  the 
midst  of  his  admiring  fellow-ruffians,  he  enacted  a  scene  as  ludi- 
crous as  it  was  pitiable.  All  the  childish  vanity  of  the  savage 
boiled  over.  He  strutted,  he  shouted,  he  tossed  about  his  huge 
limbs,  he  called  for  a  harper,  and  challenged  all  around  to  dance, 
sing,  leap,  tight,  do  anything  against  him :  meeting  with  nothing 
but  admiring  silence,  he  danced  himself  out  of  breath,  and  then 
began  boasting  once  more  of  his  fights,  his  cruelties,  his  butch- 
eries, his  impossible  escapes  and  victories ;  till  at  last,  as  luck 
would  have  it,  he  espied  Here  ward,  and  poured  out  a  stream  of 
abuse  against  Englishmen  and  English  courage. 

"  Englishmen,"  he  said,  "  were  naught.  Had  he  not  slain  three 
of  them  himself  with  one  blow  ?  " 

"  Of  your  mouth,  I  suppose,"  quoth  Hereward,  who  saw  that 
the  quarrel  must  come,  and  was  glad  to  have  it  done  and  over. 

"  Of  my  mouth  ?  "  roared  Ironhook  ;  "  of  my  sword,  man  !  " 

"Of  your  mouth,"  said  Hereward.  "Of  your  brain  were  they 
begotten,  of  the  breath  of  your  mouth  they  were  born,  and  by  the 
breath  of  your  mouth  you  can  slay  them  again  as  often  as  you 
choose." 

The  joke,  as  it  has  been  handed  down  to  us  by  the  old  chroni- 
clers, seems  clumsy  enough ;  but  it  sent  the  princess,  say  they, 
into  shrieks  of  laughter. 

"  Were  it  not  that  my  Lord  Alef  was  here,"  shouted  Ironhook, 
"  I  would  kill  you  out  of  hand." 

"  Promise  to  fight  fair,  and  do  your  worst.  The  more  fairly 
you  fight,  the  more  honor  you  will  win,"  said  Hereward. 

Whereupon  the  two  were  parted  for  the  while. 

Two  hours  afterwards,  Hereward,  completely  armed  with  hel- 
met and  mail-shirt,  sword  and  javelin,  hurried  across  the  great 
coui-t-yard,  with  Martin  Lighttbot  at  his  heels,  towards  the  little 
church  upon  the  knoll  above.  The  two  wild  men  entered  into 
the  coul  darkness,  and  saw  before  them,  by  the  light  of  a  tiny 
lamj),  the  crucifix  over  the  altar,  and  beneath  it  that  which  was 
then  believed  to  be  the  body  of  Him  who  made  heaven  and  earth. 
They  stopped,  trembling,  for  a  moment,  bowed  themselves  before 
tliat,  to  them,  perpetual  miracle,  and  then  hurried  on  to  a  low 
doorway  to  the  right,  inside  wliich  dwelt  Alef's  chaplain,  one  of 
those  good  Celtic  priests  who  were  supposed  to  represent  a  Chris- 
tianity more  ancient  than,  and  all  but  independent  of,  the  then 
all-absorbing  Church  of  Rome. 


52  HEREWAED,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

The  cell  was  such  a  one  as  a  convict  would  now  disdain  to  inhabit. 
A  low  lean-to  roof;  the  slates  and  rafters  unceiled ;  the  stone 
walls  and  floor  unphistered;  ill-lighted  by  a  hand-broad  window, 
unglazed,  and  closed  with  a  shutter  at  night.  A  truss  of  straw 
and  a  rug,  the  priest's  bed,  lay  in  a  corner.  The  only  other  fur- 
niture was  a  large  oak  chest,  containing  the  holy  vessels  and 
vestments  and  a  few  old  books.  It  stood  directly  under  the  win- 
dow for  the  sake  of  light,  for  it  served  the  good  priest  for  both 
table  and  chair ;  and  on  it  he  was  sitting  reading  in  his  book  at 
that  minute,  the  sunshine  and  the  wind  streaming  in  behind  his 
head,  doing  no  good  to  his  rheumatism  of  thirty  years'  standing. 

"  Is  there  a  priest  here  ?  "  asked  Hereward,  hurriedly. 

The  old  man  looked  up,  shook  his  head,  and  answered  in 
Cornish. 

'•  Speak  to  him  in  Latin,  Martin  !  May  be  he  will  understand 
that." 

JNIartin  spoke.  "  My  lord,  here,  wants  a  priest  to  shrive  him, 
and  that  quickly.  He  is  going  to  fight  the  great  tyrant  Iron- 
hook,  as  you  call  him." 

"  Ironhook?  "  answered  the  priest  in  good  Latin  enough.  "And 
he  so  young !  God  help  him,  he  is  a  dead  man  !  What  is  this, 
—  a  fresh  soul  sent  to  its  account  by  the  hands  of  that  man  of 
Belial  ?  Cannot  he  entreat  him,  —  can  he  not  make  peace,  and 
save  his  young  life  ?  He  is  but  a  stripling,  and  that  man,  like 
Goliath  of  old,  a  man  of  war  from  his  youth  up." 

"  And  my  master,"  said  Martin  Lightfoot,  proudly,  "  is  like 
young  David,  —  one  that  can  face  a  giant  and  kill  him ;  for  he 
has  slain,  like  David,  his  lion  and  his  bear  ere  now.  At  least  he 
is  one  that  will  neither  make  peace  nor  entreat  the  face  of  living 
man.  So  shrive  him  quickly.  Master  Priest,  and  let  him  be  gone 
to  his  work." 

Poor  Martin  Lightfoot  spoke  thus  bravely  only  to  keep  up  his 
spirits  and  his  young  lord's ;  for,  in  spite  of  his  confidence  in 
Hereward's  prowess,  he  had  given  him  up  for  a  lost  man :  and 
the  tears  ran  down  his  rugged  cheeks,  as  the  old  priest,  rising  up 
and  seizing  Hereward's  two  hands  in  his,  besought  liim,  with  the 
passionate  and  graceful  eloquence  of  his  race,  to  have  mercy 
upon  his  own  youth. 

Hereward  understood  his  meaning,  though  not  his  words. 

"Tell  him,"  he  said  to  Martin,  "  that  fight  I  must,  and  tell  him 
that  shrive  me  he  must,  and  that  quickly.  Tell  him  how  the  fel- 
low met  me  in  the  wood  below  just  now,  and  would  have  slain  me 
there,  unarmed  as  I  was  ;  and  how,  when  I  told  him  it  was  a 
shame  to  strike  a  naked  man,  he  told  me  he  would  give  me  but 
one  hour's  grace  to  go  back,  on  the  faith  of  a  gentleman,  for  my 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH.  53 

armor  and  weapons,  and  meet  him   there  again,  to  die  by  his 
hand.     So  shrive  me  quick,  Sir  Priest." 

Hereward  knelt  down.  Martin  Lightfoot  knelt  down  by  him, 
and  with  a  trembling  voice  began  to  interpret  for  him. 

"  What  does  he  say  ? "  asked  Herewtu'd,  as  the  priest  mur- 
mured something  to  himself. 

"  He  said,"  quoth  Martin,  now  fairly  blubbering,  "  that,  fair 
and  young  as  you  are,  your  shrift  should  be  as  short  and  as  clean 
as  David's." 

Hereward  was  touched.  "  Anything  but  that,"  said  he,  smit- 
ing on  his  breast,  "  Mea  culpa,  —  mea  culpa,  —  mea  maxima 
culpa." 

"  Tell  him  how  I  robbed  my  father." 

The  priest  groaned  as  Martin  did  so. 

"  And  how  I  mocked  at  my  mother,  and  left  her  in  a  rage, 
■without  ever  a  kind  word  between  us.  And  how  I  have  slain  I 
know. not  how  many  men  in  battle,  though  that,  I  trust,  need  not 
lay  heavily  on  my  soul,  seeing  that  I  killed  them  all  in  fair 
fight." 

Again  the  priest  groaned. 

"  And  how  I  robbed  a  certain  priest  of  his  money  and  gave  it 
away  to  my  housecarles." 

Here  the  priest  groaned  more  bitterly  still. 

"  O  my  son !  my  son !  where  hast  thou  found  time  to  lay  all 
these  burdens  on  thy  young  soul?" 

"  It  will  take  less  time,"  said  Martin,  bluntly,  "  for  you  to  take 
the  burdens  off  again." 

"  But  I  dare  not  absolve  him  for  robbing  a  priest.  Heaven 
help  him  !  He  must  go  to  the  bishop  for  that.  He  is  more  fit  to 
go  on  pilgrimage  to  Jerusalem  than  to  battle." 

"  He  has  no  time,"  quoth  Martin,  "  for  bishops  or  Jerusalem." 

"Tell  him,"  says  Hereward,  "that  in  this  purse  is  all  I  have, 
that  in  it  he  will  find  sixty  silver  pennies,  beside  two  strange 
coins  of  gold." 

"  Sir  Priest,"  said  Martin  Lightfoot,  taking  the  purse  from 
Hereward,  and  keeping  it  in  his  own  hand,  "  there  are  in  this 
bag  moneys." 

Martin  had  no  mind  to  let  the  priest  into  the  secret  of  the  state 
of  their  finances. 

"  And  tell  him,"  continued  Hereward,  "  that  if  I  fiill  in  this 
battle  I  give  him  all  that  money,  that  he  may  part  it  among  the 
poor  for  the  good  of  my  soul." 

'•  Pish ! "  said  Martin  to  his  lord  ;  "  that  is  paying  him  for  hav- 
ing you  killed.  You  should  pay  him  for  keeping  you  alive." 
And  without  waiting  for  the  answer,  he  spoke  in  Latin,  — 


54        HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

"  And  if  he  comes  back  safe  from  this  battle,  he  will  give  you 
ten  pennies  for  yourself  and  your  church.  Priest,  and  therefore 
expects  you  to  pray  your  very  loudest  while  he  is  gone." 

"  I  will  pray,  I  will  pray,"  said  the  holy  man ;  ''  I  will  wrestle 
in  prayer.  Ah  that  he  could  slay  the  wicked,  and  reward  the 
proud  according  to  his  deservings !  Ah  that  he  could  rid  me 
and  my  master,  and  my  young  lady,  of  this  son  of  Belial,  —  this 
devourer  of  widows  and  orphans,  —  this  slayer  of  the  poor  and 
needy,  who  fills  this  place  with  innocent  blood,  —  him  of  whom 
it  is  written,  '  They  stretch  forth  their  mouth  unto  the  heaven, 
and  their  tongue  goeth  through  the  world.  Therefore  fall  the 
people  unto  them,  and  thereout  suck  they  no  small  advantage.' 
I  will  shrive  him,  shrive  him  of  all  save  robbing  the  priest,  and 
for  that  he  must  go  to  the  bishop,  if  he  live ;  and  if  not,  the  Lord 
have  mercy  on  his  soul." 

And  so,  weeping  and  trembling,  the  good  old  man  pronounced 
the  words  of  ab-olution. 

Here  ward  rose,  thanked  him,  and  then  hurried  out  in  silence. 

''  You  will  pray  }  our  veiy  loudest.  Priest,"  said  Martin,  as  he 
followed  his  young  lord. 

"  I  will,  I  will,"  quoth  he,  and  kneeling  down  began  to  chant 
that  noble  seventy-third  Psalm,  "  Quam  bonus  Israel,"  which  he 
had  just  so  fitly  quoted. 

"  Thou  gavest  him  the  bag,  Martin  ?  "  said  Hereward,  as  they 
hurried  on. 

"  You  are  not  dead  yet.  '  No  pay,  no  play,'  is  as  good  a  rule 
for  ))riest  as  for  layman." 

"  Now  then,  Martin  Lightfoot,  good  by.  Come  not  with  me. 
It  must  never  be  said,  even  slanderously,  that  I  brought  two  into 
the  field  against  one  ;  and  if  I  die,  Martin  —  " 

"  You  won't  die  !  "  said  Lightfoot,  shutting  his  teeth. 

"  If  I  die,  go  back  to  my  people  somehow,  and  tell  them  that  I 
died  like  a  true  earl's  sou." 

Hi-reward  held  out  his  hand;  Martin  fell  on  his  knees  and 
kissed  it ;  watched  him  with  set  teeth  till  he  disappeared  in  the 
wood ;  and  then  started  forward  and  entered  the  bushes  at  a 
different  spot. 

"  I  must  be  nigh  at  hand  to  see  fair  play,"  he  muttered  to  him- 
self, "  in  case  any  of  his  ruffians  be  hanging  about.  Fair  play  I'll 
see,  and  fair  play  1  '11  give,  too,  for  the  sake  of  ray  lord's  honor, 
though  I  be  bitterly  loath  to  do  it.  So  many  times  as  I  have  been 
a  villain  when  it  was  of  no  use,  why  may  n't  I  be  one  now,  when 
it  would  serve  the  purpose  indeed  ?  Why  did  we  ever  come  into 
this  accursed  place  ?  But  one  thing  I  will  do,"  said  he,  as  he 
ensconced  himself  ujider  a  thick  holly,  whence  he  could  see  the 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.        55 

meeting  of  the  combatants  upon  an  open  lawn  some  twenty  yards 
away;  "if  that  big  bull-calf  kills  my  master,  and  I  do  not  jump 
on  his  back  and  pick  his  brains  out  with  this  trusty  steel  of  mine, 
may  my  right  arm  — " 

And  Martin  Lightfoot  swore  a  fearful  oath,  which  need  not 
here  be  written. 

Tl)e  priest  had  just  finished  his  chant  of  the  seventy-third 
P^alm,  and  had  betaken  himself  in  his  spiritual  warfare,  as  it  was 
then  called,  to  the  equally  apposite  fifty-second,  "  Quid  gloriaris?" 

"  Why  boastest  thou  thyself,  thou  tyrant,  that  thou  canst  do 
mischief,  whereas  the  goodness  of  God  endureth  yet  daily  ?  " 

"  Father  !  father ! "  cried  a  soft  voice  in  the  doorway,  "  where 
are  you  ?  " 

And  in  hurried  the  Princess. 

"  Hide  this,"  she  said,  breathless,  drawing  from  beneath  her 
mantle  a  huge  sword  ;  "  hide  it,  where  no  one  dare  touch  it,  under 
the  altar  behind  the  holy  rood :  no  place  too  secret." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  the  priest,  springing  up  from  his  knees. 

"  His  sword,  —  the  Ogre's,  —  his  magic  sword,  which  kills 
whomsoever  it  strikes.  I  coaxed  the  wretch  to  let  me  have  it 
last  night  when  he  was  tipsy,  for  fear  he  should  quarrel  with  the 
young  stranger ;  and  I  have  kept  it  from  him  ever  since  by  one 
excuse  or  another ;  and  now  he  has  sent  one  of  his  ruffians  in  for 
it,  saying,  that  if  I  do  not  give  it  up  at  once  he  will  come  back 
and  kill  me." 

"  He  dare  not  do  that,"  said  the  priest. 

"  What  is  there  that  he  dare  not  ? "  said  she.  "  Hide  it  at 
once  ;  I  know  that  he  wants  it  to  fight  with  this  Hereward." 

"  If  he  wants  it  for  that,"  said  the  priest,  "  it  is  too  late  ;  for 
half  an  hour  is  past  since  Hereward  went  to  meet  him." 

"  5^nd  you  let  him  go  ?  You  did  not  persuade  him,  stop  him  ? 
You  let  him  go  hence  to  his  death  ?  " 

In  vain  the  good  man  expostulated  and  explained  that  it  was 
no  fault  of  his. 

"  You  must  come  with  me  this  instant  to  my  father,  —  to  them  ; 
they  must  be  parted.  Tiiey  shall  be  parted.  If  you  dare  not,  I 
dare.  I  will  throw  myself  between  them,  and  he  that  strikes  the 
other  shall  strike  me." 

And  she  hurried  the  priest  out  of  the  house,  down  the  knoll, 
and  across  the  yard.  There  they  found  others  on  the  same 
errand.  Tlie  news  that  a  battle  was  toward  had  soon  spread, 
and  the  men-at-arms  were  hurrying  down  to  the  fight ;  kept 
back,  however,  by  Alef,  who  strode  along  at  their  head. 

Alef  was  sorely  perplexed  in  mind.  He  had  taken,  as  all 
honest  men  did,  a  great  liking  to  Hereward.     Moreover,  he  was 


56  HERE  WARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

his  kinsman  and  his  guest.  Save  him  he  would  if  he  could ; 
but  how  to  save  him  without  mortally  offending  his  tyrant  Iron- 
hook  he  could  not  see.  At  least  he  would  exert  what  little 
power  he  liad,  and  prevent,  if  possible,  his  men-at-arms  from 
hel])ing  their  darling  leader  against  the  hapless  lad. 

Alefs  perplexity  was  much  increased  when  his  daughter 
bounded  towards  him,  seizing  him  by  the  arm,  and  hurried  him 
on,  showing  by  look  and  word  which  of  the  combatants  she 
fiivored,  so  plainly  that  the  ruffians  behind  broke  into  scornful 
murmurs.  They  burst  through  the  bushes.  Martin  Lightfoot, 
happily,  heard  them  coming,  and  had  just  time  to  slip  away 
noiselessly,  like  a  rabbit,  to  the  other  pai't  of  the  cover. 

The  combat  seemed  at  the  first  glance  to  be  one  between  a 
grown  man  and  a  child,  so  unequal  was  the  size  of  the  combat- 
ants. But  the  second  look  showed  that  the  advantage  was  by 
no  means  with  Ironhook.  Stumbling  to  and  fro  with  the  broken 
shaft  of  a  javelin  sticking  in  his  thigh,  he  vainly  tried  to  seize 
and  crush  Hereward  in  his  enormous  arms.  Hereward,  bleed- 
ing, but  still  active  and  upriglit,  broke  away,  and  sprang  round 
him,  watching  for  an  opportunity  to  strike  a  deadly  blow.  The 
housecarles  rushed  forward  with  yells.  Alef  shouted  to  the  com- 
batants to  desist ;  but  ere  the  party  could  reach  them,  Here- 
ward's  opportunity  had  come.  Ironhook,  after  a  fruitless  lunge, 
stumbled  forward.  Hereward  leapt  aside,  and  spying  an  un- 
guarded spot  below  the  corslet,  drove  his  sword  deep  into  the 
,  giant's  body,  and  rolled  him  over  upon  the  sward.  Then  arose 
shouts  of  fury. 

"  Foul  play  !  "  cried  one. 

And  others  taking  up  the  cry,  called  out,  "  Sorcery ! "  and 
"  Treason ! " 

Hereward  stood  over  Ironhook  as  he  lay  writhing  and  foaming 
on  the  ground. 

"  Killed  by  a  boy  at  last !  "  groaned  he.  "  If^  I  had  but  had 
my  own  sword,  —  my  Brain-biter  which  that  witch  stole  from  me 
but  last  night ! "  and  amid  foul  curses  and  bitter  tears  of  shame 
his  mortal  spirit  fled  to  its  doom. 

The  housecarles  rushed  in  on  Hereward,  who  had  enough  to 
do  to  keep  them  at  arm's  length  by  long  sweeps  of  his  sword. 

Alef  entreated,  threatened,  promised  a  fair  trial  if  the  men 
would  give  fair  play  ;  when,  to  complete  tlie  confusion,  the  Prin- 
cess threw  herself  upon  the  corpse,  shrieking  and  tearing  her 
hall' ;  and  to  Ilereward's  surprise  and  disgust,  bewailed  the 
prowess  and  the  virtues  of  the  dead,  calling  upon  all  present  to 
avenge  his  murder. 

Hereward  vowed  inwardly  that  he  would  never  again  trust 


HEEEWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       57 

•woman's  fancy  or  fight  in  woman's  quarrel.  He  wa.-?  now  nigh 
at  his  wits'  end  ;  the  housecarles  hod  closed  round  him  in  a 
ring  with  the  intention  of  seizing  him  ;  and  however  well  he 
might  defend  his  front,  he  might  be  crippled  at  any  moment 
from  behind :  but  in  the  very  nick  of  time  Martin  Lightfoot 
burst  through  the  crowd,  set  himself  heel  to  heel  with  his  mas- 
ter, and  broke  out,  not  with  threats,  but  with  a  good-humored 
laugh. 

"  Here  is  a  pretty  coil  about  a  red-headed  brute  of  a  Pict ! 
Danes,  Ostmen,"  he  cried,  "  are  you  not  ashamed  to  call  such  a 
fellow  your  lord,  when  you  have  such  a  true  earl's  son  as  this  to 
lead  you  if  you  will  ?  " 

The  Ostmen  in  the  company  looked  at  each  other.  Martin 
Lightfoot  saw  that  his  appeal  to  the  antipathies  of  race  had  told, 
and  followed  it  up  by  a  string  of  witticisms  upon  the  Pictish  na- 
tion in  general,  of  which  the  only  two  fit  for  modern  ears  to  be 
set  down  were  the  two  old  stories,  that  the  Picts  had  feet  so  large 
that  they  used  to  lie  upon  their  backs  and  hold  up  their  legs  to 
shelter  them  from  the  sun  ;  and  that  when  killed,  they  could  not 
fall  down,  but  died  as  they  were,  all  standing. 

"  So  that  the  only  foul  play  I  can  see  is,  that  ray  master  shoved 
the  fellow  over  after  he  had  stabbed  him,  instead  of  leaving  him 
to  stand  upright  there,  like  one  of  your  Cornish  Dolmens,  till  his 
flesh  should  fall  off  his  bones." 

Hereward  saw  the  effect  of  Martin's  words,  and  burst  out  in 
Danish  likewise. 

"  Look  at  me  !  "  he  said  ;  "  I  am  Hereward  the  outlaw,  I  am 
the  champion,  I  am  the  Berserker,  I  am  the  Viking,  I  am  the 
land  thief,  the  sea  thief,  the  ravager  of  the  world,  the  bear-slayer, 
the  ogi'e-killer,  the  raven-fattener,  the  darling  of  the  wolf,  the 
curse  of  the  widow.  Touch  me,  and  I  will  give  you  to  the  raven 
and  to  the  wolf,  as  I  have  this  ogre.  Be  my  men,  and  follow 
me  over  the  swan's  road,  over  the  whale's  bath,  over  the  long- 
snake's  leap,  to  the  land  where  the  sea  meets  the  sun,  and  golden 
apples  hang  on  every  tree  ;  and  we  will  freight  our  ships  with 
Moorish  maidens,  and  the  gold  of  Cadiz  and  Algiers." 

"  Hark  to  the  Viking !  Hark  to  the  right  earl's  son  ! "  shouted 
some  of  the  Danes,  whose  blood  had  been  stirred  many  a  time 
before  by  such  wild  words,  and  on  whom  Hereward's  youth  and 
beauty  had  their  due  effect.  And  now  the  counsels  of  the  ruffians 
being  divided,  the  old  priest  gained  courage  to  step  in.  Let  them 
deliver  Hei-eward  and  his  serving  man  into  his  custody.  He 
would  bring  them  forth  on  the  morrow,  and  there  should  be  full 
investigation  and  fair  trial.  And  so  Hereward  and  Martin,  who 
both  refused  stoutly  to  give  up  their  arms,  were  marched  back: 
3* 


58        EEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

iuto  the  town,  locked  in  the  little  church,  and  left  to  their  medita- 
tions. 

Hereward  sat  down  on  the  pavement  and  cursed  the  Princess. 
Martin  Lightfoot  took  off  his  master's  corslet,  and,  as  well  as  the 
darkness  would  allow,  bound  up  his  wounds,  which  happily  were 
not  severe. 

"  Were  I  you,"  said  he  at  last,  "I  should  keep  my  curses  till  I 
saw  the  end  of  this  adventure." 

"  Has  not  the  girl  betrtiyed  me  shamefully  ?  " 

"  Not  she.  I  saw  her  warn  you,  as  far  as  looks  could  do,  not 
to  quarrel  with  the  man." 

"  That  was  because  she  did  not  know  me.  Little  she  thought 
that  I  could  —  " 

"  Don't  hollo  till  you  are  out  of  the  wood.  This  is  a  night  for 
praying  rather  than  boasting." 

"  She  cannot  really  love  that  wretch,"  said  Hereward,  after  a 
pause.     "  You  saw  how  she  mocked  him." 

"  "Women  are  strange  things,  and  often  tease  most  where  they 
love  most." 

"  But  such  a  misbegotten  savage." 

"  Women  are  strange  things,  say  I,  and  with  some  a  big  fellow 
is  a  pretty  fellow,  be  he  uglier  than  seven  Ironhooks.  Still,  just 
because  women  are  strange  things,  have  patience,  say  I." 

The  lock  creaked,  and  the  old  priest  came  in.  Martin  leapt  to 
the  open  door ;  but  it  was  slammed  in  his  face  by  men  outside 
with  scornful  laughter. 

The  priest  took  Hereward's  head  in  his  hands,  wept  over  him, 
blessed  him  for  having  slain  Goliath  like  young  David,  and  then 
set  food  and  drink  before  the  two ;  but  he  answered  Martin's 
questions  only  with  sighs  and  shakings  of  the  head. 

"  Let  us  eat  and  drink,  then,"  said  Martin, "  and  after  that  you, 
my  lord,  sleep  off  your  wounds  while  I  watch  the  door.  I  have  no 
fancy  for  these  fellows  taking  us  unawares  at  night." 

Martin  lay  quietly  across  the  door  till  the  small  hours,  listening 
to  every  sound,  till  the  key  creaked  once  more  in  the  lock.  He 
started  at  the  sound,  and  seizing  the  person  who  entered  round  the 
neck,  whispered,  "  One  word,  and  you  are  dead." 

"  Do  not  hurt  me,"  half  shrieked  a  stifled  voice  ;  and  Martin 
Lightfoot,  to  his  surprise,  found-  that  he  had  grasped  no  armed 
man,  but  the  sliglit  frame  of  a  young  girl. 

"  I  am  the  Pi-incess,"  she  whispered  ;  "  let  me  in." 

"  A  very  pretty  hostage  for  us,"  thought  Martin,  and  letting 
her  go  seized  the  key,  locking  the  door  in  the  inside. 

"  Take  me  to  your  master,"  she  cried,  and  Martin  led  her  up 
the  church  wondering,  but  half  suspecting  some  further  trap. 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OP  THE  ENGLISH.  59 

"  You  have  a  dagger  in  your  hand,"  said  he,  holding  her  wrist. 

"  I  have.  If  I  had  meant  to  use  it,  it  would  have  been  used 
first  on  you.     Take  it,  if  you  like." 

She  hurried  up  to  Hereward,  who  lay  sleeping  quietly  on  the 
altar-steps ;  knelt  by  him,  wrung  his  hands,  called  him  her 
champion,  her  deliverer. 

"  I  am  not  well  awake  yet,"  said  he,  coldly,  "  and  don't  know 
whether  this  may  not  be  a  dream,  as  more  that  I  have  seen  and 
heard  seems  to  be." 

"  It  is  no  dream.  I  am  true.  1  Avas  always  true  to  you. 
Have  I  not  put  myself  in  your  power .''  Am  I  not  come  here 
to  deliver  you,  my  deliverer  ?  " 

"  The  tears  which  you  slied  over  your  ogre's  corpse  seem  to 
have  dried  quickly  enough." 

"  Cruel !  What  else  could  I  do  ?  You  heard  him  accuse 
me  to  those  ruffians  of  having  stolen  his  sword.  My  life,  my 
father's  life,  were  not  safe  a  moment,  had  I  not  dissembled,  and 
done  the  thing  I  loathed.  Ah ! "  she  went  on,  bitterly,  "  you 
men,  who  rule  the  world  and  us  by  cruel  steel,  you  forget  that 
we  poor  women  have  but  one  weapon  left  wherewith  to  hold  our 
own,  and  that  is  cunning ;  and  are  di'iven  by  you  day  after  day 
to  tell  the  lie  which  we  detest." 

"  Then  you  really  stole  his  sword  ?  " 

"  And  hid  it  here,  for  your  sake  !  "  and  she  drew  the  weapon 
from  behind  the  altar. 

"  Take  it.  It  is  yours  now.  It  is  magical.  Whoever  smites 
with  it,  need  never  smite  again.  Now,  quick,  you  must  be  gone. 
But  promise  one  thing  before  yon  go." 

"  If  I  leave  this  land  safe,  I  will  do  it,  be  it  what  it  may. 
Why  not  come  with  me,  lady,  and  see  it  done  ?  " 

She  laughed.  "  Vain  boy,  do  you  think  that  I  love  you  well 
enough  for  that  ?  " 

"  I  have  won  you,  and  why  should  I  not  keep  you  ?  "  said 
Hereward,  su41enly. 

"  Do  you  not  know  that  I  am  betrothed  to  your  kinsman  ? 
And  —  tliough  that  you  cannot  know  —  that  I  love  your  kins- 
man ?  " 

"  So  I  have  all  the  blows,  and  none  of  the  spoil." 

"  Tush!  you  have  the  glory, — and  the  sword,  —  and  the  chance, 
if  you  will  do  my  biddmg,  of  being  called  by  all  ladies  a  true 
and  gentle  knight,  who  cared  not  for  his  own  pleasure,  but  for 
deeds  of  cliivah-y.  Go  to  my  betrotiied,  — •  to  Waterford  over 
the  sea.  Take  him  this  ring,  and  tell  him  by  that  token  to  come 
and  claim  me  soon,  lest  he  run  the  danger  of  losing  me  a  second 
time,  and  lose  me  then  forever;  for  I  am  in  hard  case  here, 


60       HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

and  were  it  not  for  my  father's  sake,  perhaps  I  might  be  weak 
enough,  in  spite  of  what  men  might  say,  to  flee  with  you  to 
your  kinsman  across  the  sea." 

"  Trust  me  and  come,"  said  Hereward,  whose  young  blood 
kindled  with  a  sudden  nobleness,  —  "  trust  me,  and  I  will  treat 
you  like  my  sister,  like  ray  queen.  By  the  holy  rood  above  I 
will  swear  to  be  true  to  you." 

"  I  do  trust  you,  but  it  cannot  be.  Here  is  money  for  you  in 
plenty  to  hire  a  passage  if  you  need :  it  is  no  shame  to  take  it 
from  me.  And  now  one  thing  more.  Here  is  a  cord,  —  you 
must  bind  the  hands  and  feet  of  the  old  priest  inside,  and  then 
you  must  bind  mine  likewise." 

"  Never,"  quoth  Hereward. 

"  It  must  be.  How  else  can  I  explain  your  having  got  the 
key  ?  I  made  them  give  me  the  key  on  the  pretence  that  with 
one  who  had  most  cause  to  hate  you,  it  would  be  safe  ;  and 
when  they  come  and  find  us  in  the  morning  I  shall  tell  them 
how  I  came  here  to  stab  you  with  my  own  hands,  —  you  must 
lay  the  dagger  by  me,  —  and  how  you  and  your  man  fell  upon 
us  and  bound  us,  and  you  escaped.  Ah  !  Mary  Mother,"  con- 
tinued the  maiden  Avith  a  sigh,  "  when  shall  we  poor  weak  wo- 
men have  no  more  need  of  lying  ?  " 

She  lay  down,  and  Hereward,  in  spite  of  himself,  gently  bound 
her  hands  and  feet,  kissing  them  as  he  bound  them. 

"  I  shall  do  well  here  upon  the  altar  steps,"  said  she.  "  How 
can  I  spend  my  time  better  till  the  morning  light  than  to  lie  here 
and  pray  ?  " 

The  old  priest,  who  was  plainly  in  the  plot,  submitted  meekly 
to  the  same  fate  ;  and  Hereward  and  Martin  Lightfoot  stole  out, 
locking  the  door,  but  leaving  the  key  in  it  outside.  To  scramble 
over  the  old  earthwork  was  an  easy  matter ;  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes they  were  hurrying  down  the  valley  to  the  sea,  with  a  fresh 
breeze  blowing  behind  them  from  the  north. 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you,  my  lord,"  said  Martin  Lightfoot,  "  to 
keep  your  curses  till  you  had  seen  the  end  of  this  adventure  ?  " 

Hereward  was  silent.  His  brain  was  still  whirling  from  the 
adventures  of  the  day,  and  his  heart  was  very  deeply  touched. 
His  shrift  of  the  morning,  hurried  and  formal  as  it  had  been, 
had  softened  him.  His  danger  —  for  he  felt  how  he  had  been 
face  to  face  with  death  —  had  softened  him  likewise ;  and  he 
repented  somewhat  of  his  vainglorious  and  bloodthirsty  boasting 
over  a  fallen  foe,  as  he  began  to  see  that  there  was  a  purpose 
more  noble  in  life  than  ranging  land  and  sea,  a  ruffian  among 
ruffians,  seeking  for  glory  amid  blood  and  flame.  The  idea  of 
chivalry,  of  succoring  the  weak  and  the  opprest,  of  keeping  faith 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.        61 

and  honor  not  merely  towards  men  who  could  avenge  themselves, 
but  towards  women  who  could  not ;  the  dim  dawn  of  purity, 
gentleness,  and  the  conquest  of  his  own  fierce  passions,  —  all 
these  had  taken  root  in  his  heart  during  his  adventure  with  the 
fair  Cornish  girl.  The  seed  was  sown.  Would  it  be  cut  down 
again  by  the  bitter  blasts  of  the  rough  fighting  world,  or  would 
it  grow  and  bear  the  noble  fruit  of  "  gentle  very  perfect  knight- 
hood " .? 

They  reached  the  ship,  clambered  on  board  without  ceremony, 
at  the  risk  of  being  taken  and  killed  as  robbers,  and  told  their 
case.  The  merchants  had  not  completed  their  cargo  of  tin. 
Hereward  offered  to  make  up  their  loss  to  them  if  they  would 
set  sail  at  once  ;  and  they,  feeling  that  the  place  would  be  for 
some  time  to  come  too  hot  to  hold  them,  and  being  also  in  high 
delight,  like  honest  Ostmen,  with  Hereward's  prowess,  agreed 
to  sail  straight  for  Waterfoi'd,  and  complete  their  cargo  there. 
But  the  tide  was  out.  It  was  three  full  hours  before  the  ship 
could  float ;  and  for  three  full  hours  they  waited  in  fear  and 
trembling,  expecting  the  Cornishmen  to  be  down  upon  them  in 
a  body  every  moment,  under  which  wholesome  fear  some  on 
board  prayed  fervently  who  had  never  been  known  to  pray 
before. 


CHAPTER    IV. 


HOW  HEREWARD  TOOK   SERVICE  WITH  RANALD,   KING   OF 
WATERFORD. 

The  coasts  of  Ireland  were  in  a  state  of  comparative  peace 
in  the  middle  of  the  eleventh  century.  The  ships  of  Loghlin, 
seen  far  out  at  sea,  no  longer  drove  the  population  shrieking 
inland.  Heathen  Danes,  whether  fair-haired  Fiongall  from  Nor- 
way, or  brown-haired  Dubgall  from  Denmark  proper,  no  longer 
burned  convents,  tortured  monks  for  their  gold,  or  (as  at  Clon- 
macnoise)  set  a  heathen  princess,  Oda,  wife  of  Thorgill,  son  of 
Harold  Harfager,  aloft  on  the  liigh  altar  to  receive  the  homage 
of  the  conquered.  The  Scandinavian  invaders  had  become 
Christianized,  and  civilized  also,  —  owing  to  their  continuaj  inter- 
course with  foreign  nations,  —  more  highly  than  the  Irish  whom 
they  had  overcome.  That  was  easy  ;  for  early  Irish  civilization 
seems  to  have  existed  only  in  the  convents  and  for  the  religious  ; 
and  when  they  were  cruslied,  mere  barbarism  was  left  behind. 
And  now  the  same  process  went  on  in  the  east  of  Ireland,  which 
went  on  a  generation  or  two  later  in  the  east  of  Scotland.  The 
Dunes  began  to  settle  down  into  peaceful  colonists  and  traders. 
Ireland  was  poor ;  and  the  convents  plundered  once  could  not 
be  plundered  again.  The  Irish  were  desperately  brave.  Ill- 
armed  and  almost  naked,  they  were  as  perfect  in  the  arts  of 
forest  warfare  as  those  modern  Maories  whom  they  so  much 
resemble ;  and  though  their  black  skenes  and  light  darts  were 
no  match  for  the  Danish  swords  and  battle-axes  which  they 
adopted  during  the  middle  age,  or  their  plaid  trousers  and  felt 
capes  for  the  Dani>h  helmet  and  chain  corslet,  still  an  Irishman 
was  so  ugly  a  foe,  that  it  was  not  worth  while  to  fight  with  him 
unless  he  could  be  robbed  afterwards.  The  Danes,  who,  like 
their  descendants  of  Northumbria,  the  Lowlands,  and  Ulster, 
were  canny  common-stmse  folk,  with  a  shrewd  eye  to  interest, 
found,  somewhat  to  their  regret,  that  there  were  trades  even 
more  profitable  than  robbery  and  murder.  They  therefore  con- 
centrated themselves  round  harbors  and  river  mouths,  and  sent 
forth  their  ships  to  all  the  western  seas,  from  Dubhn,  Waterford, 
Wexford,  Cork,  or  Limepck.     Every  important  seaport  in  Ire- 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.        63 

land  owes  its  existence  to  those  sturdy  Vikings'  sons.  In  each 
of  these  towns  they  had  founded  a  petty  kingdom,  which  endured 
until,  and  even  in  some  cases  after,  the  conquest  of  Ireland  by 
Henry  II.  and  Strongbow.  They  intermarried  in  the  mean  while 
with  the  native  Irish.  Brian  Boru,  for  instance,  was  so  connected 
with  Danish  royalty,  that  it  is  still  a  question  whether  he  himself 
had  not  Danish  blood  in  his  veins.  King  Sigtryg  Silkbeard, 
who  fouglit  against  him  at  Clontarf,  was  actually  his  step-son,  — 
and  so  too,  according  to  another  Irish  chronicler,  was  King  Olaff 
Kvaran,  who  even  at  the  time  of  the  battle  of  Clontarf  was 
married  to  Brian  Boru's  daughter,  —  a  marriage  which  (if  a  fact) 
was  startlingly  within  the  prohibited  degrees  of  consanguinity. 
But  the  ancient  Irish  were  sadly  careless  on  such  points ;  and 
as  Giraldus  Cambrensis  says,  "  followed  the  example  of  men  of 
old  in  tht'ir  vices  more  willingly  than  in  their  virtues." 

More  than  forty  years  had  elapsed  since  that  famous  battle  of 
Clontarf,  and  since  Ragnvald,  Reginald,  or  Ranald,  son  of  Sig- 
tryg the  Norseman,  had  been  slain  therein  by  Brian  Boru.  On 
tliat  one  day,  so  the  Irish  sang,  the  Northern  invaders  were 
exterminated,  once  and  for  all,  by  the  Milesian  hero,  who  had 
craftily  used  the  strangers  to  fight  his  battles,  and  then,  the  mo- 
ment they  became  formidable  to  himself,  crushed  them,  till  "  from 
Howth  to  Brandon  in  Kerry  there  was  not  a  threshing-floor 
without  a  Danish  slave  threshing  thereon,  or  a  quern  without  a 
Danish  woman  grinding  thereat." 

Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  the  total  annihilation  of  the  Danish 
power  in  the  Emerald  isle,  Ranald  seemed  to  the  eyes  of  men 
to  be  still  a  hale  old  warrior,  ruling  constitutionally — that  is, 
with  a  wholesome  fear  of  being  outlawed  or  murdered  if  he 
misbehaved — over  the  Danes  in  Waterford ;  with  five  hundred 
fair-haired  warriors  at  his  back,  two-edged  axe  on  shoulder  and 
two-edged  sword  on  thigh.  His  ships  drove  a  thriving  trade 
with  France  and  Spain  in  Irish  fish,  butter,  honey,  and  furs. 
His  workmen  coined  money  in  the  old  round  tower  of  Dundory, 
built  by  his  predecessor  and  namesake  about  the  year  1003, 
which  stands  as  Reginald's  tower  to  this  day.  He  had  fonght 
many  a  bloody  battle  since  his  death  at  Clontarf,  by  the  side  of 
his  old  leader  Sigtryg  Silkbeard.  He  had  been  many  a  time 
to  Dublin  to  visit  his  even  more  prosperous  and  formidable 
fi'ii'nd  ;  and  was  so  delighted  with  the  new  church  of  the  Holy 
Trinity,  which  Sigtryg  and  his  bishop  Donatus  had  just  built, 
not  in  the  Danish  or  Ostman  town,  but  in  the  heart  of  ancient 
Celtic  Dublin,  (plain  proof  of  the  utter  overthrow  of  the  Danish 
power,)  that  he  had  determined  to  build  a  like  church  in  honor 
of  the   Holy  Trinity,  in  Waterford  itself.     A  thriving,  valiant 


64  HEREWARD,   THE   LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH. 

old  king  he  seemed,  as  he  sat  in  his  great  house  of  pine  logs 
under  Reginald's  Tower  upon  the  quay,  drinking  French  and 
Spanish  wines  out  of  horns  of  ivory  and  cups  of  gold  ;  and  over 
his  head  hanging,  upon  the  wall,  the  huge  doubled-edged  axe 
with  which,  so  his  flatterers  had  whispered,  Brian  Boru  had  not 
slain  him,  but  he  Brian  Boru. 

Nevertheless,  then  as  since,  alas !  the  pleasant  theory  was 
preferred  by  the  Milesian  historians  to  the  plain  truth.  And 
far  away  inland,  monks  wrote  and  harpers  sung  of  the  death  of 
Ranald,  the  tair-haired  Fiongall,  and  all  his  "  mailed  swarms." 

One  Teague  MacMurrough,  indeed,  a  famous  bard  of  those 
parts,  composed  unto  his  harp  a  song  of  Clontarf,  the  fame  where- 
of reached  Ranald's  ears,  and  so  amused  him  that  he  rested  not 
day  or  night  till  he  had  caught  the  hapless  bard  and  brought  him 
in  triumph  into  Waterford.  There  he  compelled  him,  at  sword's 
point,  to  sing  to  him  and  his  Iiousecarles  the  Milesian  version 
of  the  great  historical  event :  and  when  the  harper,  in  fear  and 
trembling,  cnme  to  the  story  of  Ranald's  own  death  at  Brian  Bo- 
ru's  hands,  then  the  jolly  old  Viking  laughed  till  the  tears  ran 
down  his  face  ;  and  instead  of  cutting  otf  Teague's  head,  gave  him 
a  cup  of  goodly  wine,  made  him  his  own  har[)er  thenceforth,  and 
bade  him  send  tor  his  wife  and  children,  and  sing  to  him  every 
day,  especially  the  song  of  Clontarf  and  his  own  death ;  treating 
him  very  much,  in  fact,  as  English  royalty,  during  the  last  gen- 
eration, treated  another  Irisli  bard  whose  song  was  even, more 
sweet,  and  his  notions  of  Irish  history  even  more  grotesque,  than 
those  of  Teague  MacMurrough. 

It  was  to  this  old  king,  or  rather  to  his  son  Sigtryg,  godson  of 
Sigtryg  Silkbeard,  and  distant  cousin  of  his  own,  that  Hereward 
now  took  his  way,  and  told  his  stoiy,  as  the  king  sat  in  his  hall, 
drinking  "  across  the  fire,"  after  the  old  Norse  fashion.  The  fire 
of  pine  logs  was  in  the  midst  of  the  hall,  and  the  smoke  went  out 
througli  a  louver  in  the  roof  On  one  side  was  a  long  bench,  and 
in  the  middle  of  it  the  king's  high  arm-chair  ;  right  and  left  of 
him  sat  his  kinsmen  and  the  ladies,  and  his  sea-captains  and  men 
of  wealth.  Opposite,  on  the  other  side  of  the  fire,  was  another 
bench.  In  the  middle  of  that  sat  his  marshal,  and  right  and  left 
all  his  housecarles.  There  were  other  benches  behind,  on  which 
sat  more  freemen,  but  of  lesser  rank. 

And  they  were  all  drinking  ale,  which  a  servant  poured  out  of 
a  bucket  into  a  great  bull's  horn,  and  the  men  handed  round  to 
each  other. 

Then  Hereward  came  in,  and  sat  down  on  the  end  of  the 
hindermost  bench,  and  Mai'tin  stood  behind  him,  till  one  of  the 
ladies  said, — ■ 


HEEEWARD,   THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  65 

*  "Who  is  that  young  stranger,  who  sits  hehind  there  so  hum- 
bly, though  he  looks  like  an  earl's  son,  more  fit  to  sit  here  with 
us  on  the  high  bench  ?  " 

"  So  lie  does,"  quoth  Eang  Ranald.  "  Come  forward  hither, 
young  sir,  and  drink." 

And  when  Hereward  came  forward,  all  the  ladies  agreed  that 
he  must  be  an  earl's  son ;  for  he  had  a  great  gold  tore  round  his 
neck,  and  gold  rings  on  his  wrists ;  and  a  new  scarlet  coat,  bound 
with  gold  braid  ;  and  scarlet  stockings,  cross-laced  with  gold  braid 
up  to  the  knee ;  and  shoes  trimmed  with  martin's  fur;  and  a  short 
blue  silk  cloak  over  all,  trimmed  with  martin's  fur  likewise ;  and 
by  his  side,  in  a  broad  belt  with  gold  studs,  was  the  Ogre's  sword 
Brain-biter,  with  its  ivory  hilt  and  velvet  sheath  ;  and  all  agreed 
that  if  he  had  but  been  a  head  taller,  they  had  never  seen  a 
properer  man. 

"  Aha !  such  a  gay  young  sea-cock  does  not  come  hither  for 
naught.  Drink  first,  man,  and  tell  us  thy  business  after,"  and  he 
reached  the  horn  to  Hereward. 

Hereward  took  it,  and  sang,  — 

"  In  this  Braga-beaker, 
Brave  Ranald  I  pledge; 
In  good  liquor,  which  lightens 
Long  labor  on  oar-bench ; 
Good  liquor,  which  sweetens 
The  song  of  the  scald." 

"  Thy  voice  is  as  fine  as  thy  feathers,  man.  Nay,  drink  it  all. 
We  ourselves  drink  here  by  the  peg  at  midday ;  but  a  stranger  is 
welcome  to  fill  his  inside  all  hours  of  the  day." 

Whereon  Hereward  finished  the  horn  duly ;  and  at  Ranald's 
bidding,  sat  him  down  on  the  high  settle.  He  did  not  remark, 
that  as  he  sat  down  two  handsome  youths  rose  and  stood  behind 
him. 

"  Now  then,  Sir  Priest,"  quoth  the  king,  "  go  on  with  your 
story." 

A  priest,  Irish  by  his  face  and  dress,  who  sat  on  the  high  bench, 
rose,  and  renewed  an  oration  which  Hereward's  entrance  had 
interrupted. 

"  So,  O  great  King,  as  says  Homerus,  this  wise  king  called  his 
earls,  knights,  sea-captains,  and  housecarles,  and  said  unto  them, 
'  Which  of  these  two  kings  is  in  the  right,  who  can  tell  ?  But 
mind  you,  that  this  king  of  the  Enchanters  lives  far  away  in  India, 
and  we  never  heard  of  him  more  than  his  name  ;  but  this  king 
Ulixes  and  his  Greeks  live  hard  by ;  and  which  of  the  two  is  it 
wiser  to  quarrel  with,  him  that  lives  hard  by  or  him  that  lives 
far  off?  '  Therefore,  King  Ranald,  says,  by  the  mouth  of  my  hu- 
mility, the  great  O'Brodar,  Lord  of  Ivark,  '  Take  example  by 

B 


66  HEREWARD,   THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

Alcinous,  the  wise  king  of  Fairy,  and  listen  not  to  the  ambassadoi's 
of  those  lying  villains,  O'Dea  Lord  of  Slievardagh,  Macearthy 
King  of  Cashel,  and  O'SuUivan  Lord  of  Knockraffin,  who  all 
three  between  them  could  not  raise  kernes  enough  to  drive  off  one 
old  widow's  cow.  Make  friends  with  me,  who  live  upon  your 
borders  ;  and  you  shall  go  peaceably  througii  my  lands,  to  conquer 
and  destroy  them,  who  live  afai'  off;  as  they  deserve,  the  sons  of 
Belial  and  Judas.' " 

And  the  priest  crost  himself,  and  sat  down.  At  which  speech 
Hereward  was  seen  to  laugh. 

"  Why  do  you  laugh,  young  sir  ?  The  priest  seems  to  talk  like 
a  wise  man,  and  is  my  guest  and  an  ambassador." 

Then  rose  up  Hereward,  and  bowed  to  the  king.  "  King 
Ranald  Sigtrygsson,  it  was  not  for  rudeness  that  I  laughed,  for  I 
learnt  good  manners  long  ere  I  came  here,  but  because  I  find 
clerks  alike  all  over  the  world." 

"  How  ?  " 

"  Quick  at  hiding  false  counsel  under  learned  speech.  I  know 
nothing  of  Ulixes,  king,  nor  of  this  O'Brodar  either  ;  and  I  am  but 
a  lad,  as  you  see :  but  I  heard  a  bird  once  in  my  own  country  who 
gave  a  very  different  counsel  from  the  priest's." 

"  Speak  on,  then.     This  lad  is  no  fool,  my  merry  men  all." 

"  There  were  three  copses.  King,  in  our  country,  and  each 
copse  stood  on  a  hill.  In  the  first  there  built  an  eagle,  in  the 
second  there  built  a  sparhawk,  in  the  third  there  built  a  crow. 

"  Now  the  sparhawk  came  to  the  eagle,  and  said,  '  Go  shares 
with  me,  and  we  will  kill  the  crow,  and  have  her  wood  to  our- 
selves.' 

"  '  Humph  ! '  says  the  eagle,  '  I  could  kill  the  crow  without  your 
help ;  however,  I  will  think  of  it.' 

"  When  the  crow  heard  that,  she  came  to  the  eagle  herself. 
'  King  Eagle,'  says  she,  '  why  do  you  want  to  kill  me,  who  live 
ten  miles  from  you,  and  never  flew  across  your  path  in  my  life? 
Better  kill  that  little  rogue  of  a  sparhawk  who  lives  between 
us,  and  is  always  ready  to  poach  on  your  marches  whenever  your 
back  is  turned.     So  you  will  have  her  wood  as  well  as  your  own.' 

"  'You  are  a  wise  crow,'  said  the  eagle  ;  and  he  weiit  out  and 
killed  the  sparhawk,  and  took  his  wood." 

Loud  laughed  King  Ranald  and  his  Vikings  all.  "  Well 
spoken,  young  man !  We  will  take  the  sparhawk,  and  let  the, 
crcjw  bide." 

"  Nay,  but,"  quoth  Hereward,  "  hear  the  end  of  the  story.  After 
a  while  the  eagle  finds  the  crow  beating  about  the  edge  of  the 
sparhawk's  wood. 

"  '  Oho ! '  says  he,  '  so  you  can  poach  as  well  as  that  little  hook- 
nosed rogue  ? '  and  he  killed  her  too. 


HEREWARD,  THE   LAST   OF   THE   ENGLISH.  67 

•* '  Ah  ! '  says  the  crow,  when  she  lay  a-dying,  '  my  blood  is  on 
my  own  head.  If  I  had  but  left  the  sparhawk  between  me  and 
this  great  tyrant ! ' 

"  And  so  the  eagle  got  all  three  woods  to  himself." 

At  which  the  Vikings  laughed  more  loudly  than  ever;  and 
King  Ranald,  chuckling  at  the  notion  of  eating  up  the  hapless 
Ii'ish  princes  one  by  one,  sent  back  the  priest  (not  without  a 
present  for  his  church,  for  Ranald  was  a  pious  man)  to  tell  the 
great  O'Brodar,  that  unless  he  sent  into  Waterford  by  that  day 
week  two  hundred  head  of  cattle,  a  hundred  pigs,  a  hundred 
weig'ht  of  clear  honey,  and  as  much  of  wax,  Ranald  would  not 
leave  so  much  as  a  sucking-pig  alive  in  Ivark. 

The  cause  of  quarrel,  of  course,  was  too  unimportant  to  be 
mentioned.  Each  had  robbed  and  cheated  the  other  half  a  dozen 
times  in  the  last  twenty  years.  As  for  the  morality  of  the  trans- 
action, Ranald  had  this  salve  for  his  conscience,  —  that  as  he 
intended  to  do  to  O'Brodar,  so  would  O'Brodar  have  gladly  done 
to  him,  had  he  been  living  peaceably  in  Norway,  and  O'Brodar 
been  strong  enough  to  invade  and  rob  him.  Indeed,  so  had 
O'Brodar  done  already,  ever  since  he  wore  beard,  to  every  chieftain 
of  his  own  race  whom  he  was  strong  enough  to  ill-treat.  Many  a 
fair  herd  had  he  driven  off,  many  a  fair  farm  burnt,  many  a  fair 
woman  carried  off  a  slave,  after  that  inveterate  fashion  of  lawless 
feuds  which  makes  the  history  of  Celtic  Ireland  from  the  earliest 
times  one  dull  and  aimless  catalogue  of  murder  and  devastation, 
followed  by  famine  and  disease ;  and  now,  as  he  had  done  to 
others,  so  it  was  to  be  done  to  him. 

"  And  now,  young  sir,  who  seem  as  witty  as  you  are  good  look- 
ing, you  may,  if  you  will,  tell  us  your  name  and  your  business. 
As  for  the  name,  however,  if  you  wish  to  keep  it  to  yourself, 
Ranald  Sigtrygsson  is  not  the  man  to  demand  it  of  an  honest 
guest." 

Hereward  looked  ronnd  and  saw  Teague  MacMurrough  stand- 
ing close  to  him,  harp  in  hand.  He  took  it  from  him  courteously 
enough,  put  a  silver  penny  into  the  minstrel's  hand,  and  runninor 
his  fingers  over  the  strings,  rose  and  began, — 

"  Outlaw  and  free  thief, 
Landless  and  lawless 
Tlfrough  the  world  fare  I, 
Thoughtless  of  life. 
Soft  is  my  benrd,  but 
Hard  my  Braiu-biter. 
Wake,  men  me  call,  wliora 
Warrior  or  watchman 
Never  caught  sleeping, 
Far  in  Northumberland 
Slew  I  the  witch-bear. 
Cleaving  his  brain-pan, 
At  one  stroke  I  felled  him." 


68       HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

And  so  forth,  chanting  all  his  doughty  deeds,  with  such  a  voice 
and  spirit  joined  to  that  musical  talent  for  which  he  was  after- 
wards so  famous,  till  the  hearts  of  the  wild  Norsemen  rejoiced, 
and  "  Skall  to  the  stranger !  Skall  to  the  young  Viking ! "  rang 
through  the  hall. 

Then  showing  proudly  the  fresh  wounds  on  his  bare  arms,  he 
sang  of  his  fight  with  the  Cornish  ogre,  and  his  adventure  with 
the  Princess.  But  always,  though  he  went  into  the  most  minute 
details,  he  concealed  the  name  both  of  her  and  of  her  father, 
while  he  kept  his  eyes  steadily  fixed  on  Ranald's  eldest  son,  Sig- 
tryg,  who  sat  at  his  father's  right  hand. 

The  young  man  grew  uneasy,  red,  almost  angry ;  tiU  at  last 
Hereward  sung, — • 

"A  gold  ring  she  gave  me 
Right  royally  dwarf- worked, 
To  none  will  I  pass  it 
For  prayer  or  for  sword-stroke, 
Save  to  him  who  can  claim  it 
By  love  and  by  troth  plight, 
Let  that  hero  speak 
If  that  hero  be  here." 

Young  Sigtryg  half  started  from  his  feet :  but  when  Hereward 
smiled  at  him,  and  laid  his  finger  on  his  lips,  he  sat  down  again. 
Hereward  felt  his  shoulder  touched  from  behind.  One  of  the 
youths  who  had  risen  when  he  sat  down  bent  over  him,  and  whis- 
pered in  his  ear, — 

"  Ah,  Hereward,  we  know  you.  Do  you  not  know  us  ?  We 
are  the  twins,  the  sons  of  your  sister,  Siward  the  White  and  Si- 
ward  the  Red,  the  orphans  of  Asbiorn  Siwardsson,  who  fell  at 
Dunsinane." 

Hereward  sprang  up,  struck  the  harp  again,  and  sang,  — 

"  Outlaw  and  free  thief, 
My  kinsfolk  have  left  me, 
And  no  kinsfolk  need  I 
Till  kinsfolk  shall  need  me. 
My  sword  is  my  father, 
My  shield  is  my  mother. 
My  ship  is  my  sister, 
My  horse  is  my  brother." 

"  Uncle,  uncle,"  whisf)ered  one  of  them,  sadly,  "  listen  now  or 
never,  for  we  have  bad  news  for  you  and  us.  Your  father  is 
dead,  and  Earl  Algar,  your  brother,  here  in  Ireland,  outlawed  a 
second  time." 

A  flood  of  sorrow  passed  through  Hereward's  heart.  He  kept 
it  down,  and  rising  once  more,  harp  in  hand,  — 

"  Hereward,  king,  hight  I, 
Holy  Leofric  my  father, 


HEKEWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       69 

In  Westminster  wiser 
None  walked  with  King  Edward. 
High  minsters  ho  builded, 
Pale  monies  he  maintained. 
Dead  is  lie,  a  bed-death, 
A  leech-death,  a  priest-death, 
A  straw-death,  a  cow's  death. 
Such  doom  I  desire  not. 
To  high  heaven,  all  so  softly, 
The  angels  uphand  him, 
In  meads  of  May  flowers 
Mild  Mary  will  meet  him. 
Me,  happier,  the  Valkyrs 
Shall  waft  from  the  war-deck, 
Shall  hail  from  the  holmgang 
Or  helmet-strewn  moorland. 
And  sword-strokes  my  shrift  be, 
Sharp  spejirs  be  my  leeches, 
With  heroes'  hot  corpses 
High  heaped  for  ray  pillow." 

"  Skall  to  the  Viking ! "  shouted  the  Danes  once  more,  at  this 
outburst  of  heathendom,  common  enough  among  their  half-con- 
verted race,  in  times  when  monasticism  made  so  utter  a  divorce 
between  the  Hfe  of  the  devotee  and  that  of  the  worldhng  that  it 
seemed  reasonable  enough  for  either  party  to  have  their  own 
heaven  and  their  own  hell.  After  all,  Hereward  was  not  origi- 
nal in  his  wish.  He  had  but  copied  the  death-song  which  his 
father's  friend  and  compeer,  Siward  Digre,  the  victor  of  Dunsi- 
nane,  had  sung  for  himself  some  three  years  before. 

All  praised  his  poetry,  and  especially  the  quickness  of  his 
alliterations  (then  a  note  of  the  highest  art)  ;  and  the  old  king 
filling  not  this  time  the  horn,  but  a  golden  goblet,  bid  him  drain 
it  and  keep  the  goblet  for  his  song. 

Young  Sigtryg  leapt  up,  and  took  the  cup  to  Hereward. 
"  Such  a  skald,"  he  said,  "  ought  to  have  no  meaner  cup-bearer 
than  a  king's  son." 

Hereward  drank  it  dry ;  and  then  fixing  his  eyes  meaningly 
on  the  Prince,  dropt  the  Princess's  ring  into  the  cup,  and  putting 
it  back  into  Sigtryg's  hand,  sang,  — 

"  The  beaker  I  reach  back 
More  rich  than  I  took  it. 
No  gold  will  I  grasp 
Of  the  king's,  the  ring-giver, 
TiU,  by  wit  or  by  weapon, 
I  worthily  win  it. 
When  brained  by  my  biter 
O'Brodar  lies  gory. 
While  over  the  wolf's  meal 
Fair  widows  are  wailing." 

"  Does  he  refuse  my  gift  ?  "  grumbled  Ranald. 

'*  He  has  given  a  fair  reason,"  said  the  Prince,  as  he  hid  the 


70       HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

ring  in  his  bosom  ;  "  leave  him  to  me  ;  for  my  brother  in  arms  he 
is  lienceforth." 

After  which,  as  was  the  custom  of  those  parts,  most  of  them 
drank  too  much  hquor.  But  neither  Sigtryg  nor  Hereward 
drank  ;  and  the  two  Siwards  stood  behind  their  young  uncle's 
seat,  watching  him  with  that  intense  admiration  which  lads  can 
feel  for  a  young  man. 

That  niglit,  when  the  warriors  were  asleep,  Sigtryg  and  Here- 
ward talked  out  their  plans.  They  would  equip  two  ships  ;  they 
would  fight  all  the  kinglets  of  Cornwall  at  once,  if  need  was  ; 
they  woukl  carry  off  the  Princess,  and  burn  Alefs  town  over  his 
head,  if  he  said  nay.  Nothing  could  be  more  simple  than  the 
tactics  required  in  an  age  when  might  was  right. 

Then  Hereward  turned  to  his  two  nephews  who  lingered  near 
him,  plainly  big  with  news. 

"  And  what  brings  you  here,  lads  ? "  He  had  hardened  his 
heart,  and  made  up  his  mind  to  show  no  kindness  to  his  own  kin. 
The  day  might  come  when  they  might  need  him ;  then  it  would 
be  his  turn. 

"  Your  father,  as  we  told  you,  is  dead." 

"  So  much  the  better  for  him,  and  the  worse  for  England. 
And  Harold  and  the  Godwinssons,  of  course,  are  lords  and  mas- 
ters far  and  wide  ?  " 

"  Tosti  has  our  grandfather  Siward's  earldom." 

"  I  know  that.  I  know,  too,  that  he  will  not  keep  it  long,  un- 
less he  learns  that  Northumbrians  ax'e  free  men,  and  not  Wessex 
slaves." 

"  And  Algar  our  uncle  is  outlawed  again,  after  King  Edward 
had  given  him  peaceably  your  father's  earldom." 

"  And  why  ?  " 

"  Why  was  he  outlawed  two  years  ago  ?  " 

"  Because  the  Godwinssons  hate  him,  I  suppose." 

"  And  Algar  is  gone  to  Griffin,  the  Welshman,  and  from  him 
on  to  Dublin  to  get  ships,  just  as  he  did  two  years  ago ;  and  has 
sent  us  here  to  get  ships  likewise." 

"  And  what  will  he  do  with  them  when  he  has  got  them  ?  He 
burnt  Hereford  last  time  he  was  outlawed,  by  way  of  a  wise 
deed,  minster  and  all,  with  St.  Ethelbert's  relics  on  board  ;  and 
slew  seven  clergymen  :  but  they  were  only  honest  canons  with 
wives  at  home,  and  not  shaveling  monks,  so  I  su])pose  that  sin 
was  easily  shrived.  Well,  I  i-obbed  a  priest  of  a  few  pence,  and 
was  outlawed ;  he  plunders  and  burns  a  whole  minster,  and  is 
made  a  great  earl  lor  it.  One  law  for  the  weak  and  one  for  the 
strong,  young  lads,  as  you  will  know  when  you  are  as  old  as  I. 
And  now  I  suppose  he  will  plunder  and  burn  more  minsters,  and 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.        71 

then  patch  up  a  peace  with  Harold  again  ;  which  I  advise  him 
strongly  to  do ;  for  I  warn  you,  young  lads,  and  you  may  carry 
that  message  from  me  to  Dublin  to  my  good  brother  your  uncle, 
that  Harold's  little  finger  is  thicker  tlian  his  whole  body  ;  and 
th;it,  false  Godwinsson  as  he  is,  he  is  the  only  man  with  a  head 
upon  his  shoulders  left  in  England,  now  that  his  father,  and  my 
father,  and  dear  old  Siward,  whom  I  loved  better  than  my  father, 
are  dead  and  gone." 

The  lads  stood  silent,  not  a  little  awed,  and  indeed  imposed  on, 
by  the  cynical  and  worldly-wise  tone  which  their  renowned  uncle 
had  assumed. 

At  last  one  of  them  asked,  falteringly,  "  Then  you  will  do 
nothing  for  us?" 

"  For  you,  nothing.  Against  jou,  nothing.  Wiiy  should  I 
mix  myself  up  in  my  brother's  quarrels  ?  Will  he  make  that 
white-headed  driveller  at  Westminster  reverse  my  outlawry  ? 
And  if  he  does,  what  shall  I  get  thereby  ?  A  younger  brother's 
portion  ;  a  dirty  ox-gang  of  laud  in  Kesteven.  Let  him  leave 
me  alone  as  I  leave  him,  and  see  if  I  do  not  come  back  to  him 
some  day,  for  or  against  him  as  he  chooses,  with  such  a  host  of 
Vikings'  sons  as  Harold  Hadraade  himself  would  be  proud  of.  By 
Thor's  hammer,  boys,  I  have  been  an  outlaw  but  five  years  now, 
a|id  I  find  it  so  cheery  a  life,  that  I  do  not  care  if  I  am  an  outlaw 
for  fifty  more.  The  world  is  a  fine  place  and  a  wide  place  ;  and 
it  is  a  very  little  corner  of  it  that  I  have  seen  yet  ;  and  if  you 
were  of  my  mettle,  you  would  come  along  with  me  and  see  it 
throughout  to  the  four  corners  of  heaven,  instead  of  mixing  your- 
selves up  in  these  paltry  little  quarrels  with  which  our  two  fami- 
lies are  tearing  England  in  pieces,  and  being  murdered  per- 
chance like  dogs  at  last  by  treachery,  as  Sweyn  Godwinsson 
murdered  Biorn." 

Tlie  boys  listened,  wide-eyed  and  wide-eared.  Hereward 
knew  to  whom  he  was  speaking ;  and  he  had  not  spoken  in 
vain. 

"  What  do  you  hope  to  get  here  ?  "  he  went  on.  "  Ranald 
will  give  you  no  ships  :  he  will  have  enough  to  do  to  fight 
O'Brodar  ;  and  he  is  too  cunning  to  thrust  his  head  into  Aljjar'a 
quarrels." 

''  We  hoped  to  find  Vikings  here,  who  would  go  to  any  war 
on  the  hope  of  plunder." 

"  If  there  be  any,  I  want  them  more  than  you  ;  and,  what  is 
more,  I  will  have  them.  They  know  that  they  will  do  finer 
deeds  with  me  for  their  captain  than  burning  a  few  English 
homesteads.  And  so  may  you.  Come  with  me,  lads.  Once 
and  for  all,  come.     Help  me  to  fight  O'Brodar.     Then  help  me 


% 


72  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

to  another  little  adventure  which  I  have  on  hand,  —  as  pretty  a 
one  as  ever  you  heard  a  minstrel  sing,  —  and  then  we  will  fit  out 
a  long  ship  or  two,  and  go  where  fate  leads,  —  to  Constantinople, 
if  you  like.  What  can  you  do  better  ?  You  never  will  get  that 
earldom  from  Tosti.  Lucky  for  young  Waltheof,  your  uncle, 
if  he  gets  it,  —  if  he,  and  you  too,  are  not  murdered  within 
seven  years  ;  for  I  know  Tosti's  humor,  when  he  has  rivals  in 
his  way  —  " 

"  Algar  will  protect  us,"  said  one. 

"  I  te-ll  you,  Algar  is  no  match  for  the  Godwinssons.  If  the 
monk-king  died  to-morrow,  neither  his  earldom  nor  liis  life  would 
be  safe.  When  I  saw  your  father  Asbiorn  lie  dead  at  Dunsi- 
nane,  I  said,  '  There  ends  the  glory  of  the  house  of  the  bear ' ; 
and  if  you  wish  to  make  my  words  come  false,  then  leave  Eng- 
land to  founder  and  rot  and  fall  to  pieces,  —  as  all  men  say  she 
is  doing,  —  without  your  helping  to  hasten  her  ruin ;  and  seek 
glory  and  wealth  too  with  me  around  the  world !  The  white 
bear's  blood  is  in  your  veins,  lads.  Take  to  the  sea  like  your 
ancestor,  and  come  over  the  swan's  bath  with  me ! " 

"  That  we  will !  "  said  the  two  lads.  And  well  they  kept  their 
word. 


.4 


CHAPTER    V. 


HOW  HEREWARD   SUCCORED  THE  PRINCESS  OF   CORNWALL   A 
SECOND  TIME. 

Fat  was  the  feasting  and  loud  was  the  harping  in  the  halls  of 
Alef  the  Cornishman,  King  of  Gweek.  Savory  was  the  smell 
of  fried  pilchard  and  hake  ;  more  savory  still  that  of  roast  por- 
poise ;  most  savory  of  all  that  of  fifty  huge  squab  pies,  built  up 
of  layers  of  apples,  bacon,  onions,  and  mutton,  and  at  the  bottom 
of  each  a  squab,  or  young  cormorant,  which  diffused  both  through 
the  pie  and  through  the  ambient  air  a  delicate  odor  of  mingled 
guano  and  polecat.  And  the  occasion  was  worthy  alike  of  the 
smell  and  of  the  noise ;  for  King  Alef,  finding  that  after  the 
Ogre's  death  the  neighboring  kings  were  but  too  ready  to  make 
reprisals  on  him  for  his  champion's  murders  and  robberies,  had 
made  a  treaty  of  alliance,  offensive  and  defensive,  with  Hannibal 
the  son  of  Gryll,  King  of  Marazion,  and  had  confirmed  the  same 
by  bestowing  on  him  the  hand  of  his  fair  daughter.  Whether 
she  approved  of  the  match  or  not,  was  asked  neither  by  King 
Alef  nor  by  King  Ilannibal. 

To-night  was  the  bridal-feast.  To-morrow  morning  the  church 
was  to  hallow  the  union,  and  after  that  Hannibal  Grylls  was  to 
lead  home  his  bride,  among  a  gallant  company. 

And  as  they  ate  and  drank,  and  Iiarped  and  piped,  there  came 
into  that  hall  four  shabbUy  drest  men,  —  one  of  them  a  short, 
broad  fellow,  with  black  elf-locks  and  a  red  beard,  —  and  sat  them 
down  sneakingly  at  the  very  lowest  end  of  all  the  benches. 

In  hospitable  Cornwall,  especially  on  such  a  day,  every  guest 
was  welcome;  and  the  strangei's  sat  peaceably,  but  ate  nothing, 
tlioiigh  there  was  both  hake  and  pilchard  within  reach. 

Next  to  them,  by  chance,  sat  a  great  lourdan  of  a  Dane,  as 
honest,  brave,  and  stupid  a  fellow  as  ever  tugged  at  oar;  and  after 
a  while  they  fell  talking,  till  the  strangers  had  heard  the  reason 
oC  this  great  feast,  and  all  the  news  of  the  country  side. 

"  But  whence  did  they  come,  not  to  know  it  already  ;  for  all 
Cornwall  was  talking  thereof?" 

"  O,  they  came  out  of  Devonshire,  seeking  service  down  west, 
with  some  merchant  or  rover,  being  seafaring  men." 
4 


74       HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

The  stranger  with  the  black  hair  had  been,  meanwhile,  ear- 
nestly watching  the  Princess,  who  sat  at  the  board's  head.  He 
saw  her  watching  him  in  return,  and  with  a  face  sad  enough. 

At  last  she  burst  into  tears. 

"  What  should  the  bride  weep  for,  at  such  a  merry  wedding  ?  " 
asked  he  of  his  companion. 

"  O,  cause  enough  "  ;  and  he  told  bluntly  enough  the  Princess's 
story.  "  And  what  is  more,"  said  he,  "  the  King  of  Waterford 
sent  a  ship  over  last  week,  with  forty  proper  lads  on  board, 
and  two  gallant  holders  with  them,  to  demand  her ;  but  for  all 
answer,  they  were  put  into  the  strong  house,  and  there  they  lie, 
chained  to  a  log,  at  this  minute.  Pity  it  is  and  shame,  I  hold,  for 
I  am  a  Dane  myself;  and  pity,  too,  that  such  a  bonny  lass  should 
go  to  an  unkempt  Welshman  like  this,  instead  of  a  tight  smart 
Viking's  son,  like  the  Waterford  lad." 

The  stranger  answered  nothing,  but  kept  his  eyes  upon  the 
Princess,  till  she  looked  at  him  steadfastly  in  return. 

She  turned  pale  and  red  again  ;  but  after  a  while  she  spoke. 

"  There  is  a  stranger  there ;  and  what  his  rank  may  be  I 
know  not ;  but  he  has  been  thrust  down  to  the  lowest  seat,  in  a 
house  that  used  to  honor  strangers,  instead  of  treating  them  like 
slaves.  Let  him  take  this  dish  from  my  hand,  and  eat  joyfully, 
lest  when  he  goes  home  he  may  speak  scorn  of  bridegroom  and 
bride,  and  our  Cornish  weddings." 

The  servant  brought  the  dish  down :  he  gave  a  look  at  the  stran- 
ger's shabby  dress,  turned  up  his  nose,  and  pretending  to  mistake, 
put  the  dish  into  the  liand  of  the  Dane. 

"  Hold,  lads,"  quoth  the  stranger.  "  If  I  have  ears,  that  was 
meant  for  me." 

He  seized  the  platter  with  both  hands ;  and  therewith  the  hands 
both  of  the  Cornishraan  and  of  the  Dane.  There  was  a  struggle ; 
but  so  bitter  was  the  stranger's  gripe,  that  (says  the  chronicler)  the 
blood  burst  from  the  nails  of  both  his  Opponents. 

He  was  called  a  "  savage,"  a  "  devil  in  man's  shape,"  and  other 
dainty  names ;  but  he  was  left  to  eat  his  squab  pie  in  peace. 

"  Patience,  lads,"  quoth  he,  as  he  filled  his  mouth.  "  Before  I 
take  my  pleasure  at  this  wedding,  I  will  hand  my  own  dish  round 
as  well  as  any  of  you." 

Whereat  men  wondered,  but  held  their  tongues. 

And  when  the  eating  was  over  and  the  drinking  began,  the 
Princess  rose,  and  came  round  to  drink  the  farewell  health. 

With  her  maids  behind  her,  and  her  harper  before  her  (so  was 
the  Cornish  custom),  she  pledged  one  by  one  each  of  the  guests, 
slave  as  well  as  free,  while  the  harper  played  a  tune. 

She  came  down  at  last  to  the  strangers.  Her  face  was  pale, 
and  her  eyes  I'ed  with  weeping. 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       75 

She  filled  a  cup  of  wine,  and  one  of  her  maids  offered  it  to  the 
stranger. 

He  put  it  back,  courteously,  but  fij-mly.  "  Not  from  your  hand," 
said  he. 

A  growl  against  his  bad  manners  rose  straightway ;  and  the 
minstrel,  who  (as  often  happened  in  those  days)  was  jester  like- 
wise, made  merry  at  his  expense,  and  advised  the  company  to  tura 
the  wild  beast  out  of  the  hall. 

''  Silence,  fool !  "  said  the  Princess.  "  Why  should  he  know  oifr 
west-country  ways  ?  He  may  take  it  from  my  hand,  if  not  from 
hers." 

And  she  held  out  to  him  the  cup  herself. 

He  took  it,  looking  her  steadily  in  the  face ;  and  it  seemed  to 
the  minstrel  as  if  their  hands  lingered  together  round  the  cup- 
handle,  and  that  he  saw  the  glitter  of  a  ring. 

Like  many  another  of  his  cratt  before  and  since,  he  was  a  vain, 
meddlesome  vagabond,  and  must  needs  pry  into  a  secret  which 
certainly  did  not  concern  him. 

So  he  could  not  leave  the  stranger  in  peace :  and  knowing  that 
his  privileged  calling  protected  him  from  that  formidable  fist,  he 
never  passed  him  by  without  a  sneer  or  a  jest,  as  he  wandered 
round  the  table,  offering  his  harp,  in  the  Cornish  fashion,  to  any 
one  who  wished  to  play  and  sing. 

"  But  not  to  you.  Sir  Elf-locks :  he  that  is  rude  to  a  pretty  girl 
when  she  offers  him  wine,  is  too  great  a  boor  to  understand  my 
trade." 

"  It  is  a  fool's  trick,"  answered  the  stranger  at  last,  "  to  put  off 
what  you  must  do  at  last.  If  I  had  but  the  time,  I  would  pay 
you  for  your  tune  with  a  better  one  than  you  ever  heard." 

"  Take  the  harp,  then,  boor !  "  said  the  minstrel,  with  a  laugh 
and  a  jest. 

The  stranger  took  it,  and  drew  from  it  such  music  as  made  all 
heads  turn  toward  him  at  once.  Then  he  began  to  sing,  some- 
times by  himself,  and  sometimes  his  comrades,  "  more  Girviorum 
tripliciter  canentes"  joined  their  voices  in  a  three-man-glee. 

In  vain  the  minstrel,  jealous  for  his  own  credit,  tried  to  snatch 
the  harp  away.  The  stranger  sang  on,  till  all  hearts  were  soft- 
ened ;  and  the  Princess,  taking  the  rich  shawl  from  her  shoulders, 
threw  it  over  those  of  the  stranger,  saying  that  it  was  a  gift  too 
poor  for  such  a  scald. 

"  Scald  !  "  roared  the  bridegroom  (now  well  in  his  cups)  from  the 
head  of  the  table  ;  "  ask  what  thou  wilt,  short  of  my  bride  and  my 
kingdom,  and  it  is  thine." 

"  Give  me,  then,  Hannibal  Grylls,  King  of  Marazion,  the 
Danes  who  came  from  Ranald,  of  Waterford." 


76  HERE  WARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

"  You  shall  have  them  I  Pity  that  you  have  asked  for  nothing 
better  than  such  tarry  ruffians  !  " 

A  few  minutes  after,  the  minstrel,  bursting  with  jealousy  and 
rage,  was  whispering  in  Hannibal's  ear, 

Tlie  hot  old  Punic  *  blood  flashed  up  in  his  cheeks,  and  his  thin 
Punic  lips  curved  into  a  snaky  smile.  Perhaps  the  old  Punic 
treachery  in  his  heart ;  for  all  that  he  was  heard  to  reply  was, 
"  We  must  not  disturb  the  good-fellowship  of  a  Cornish  wed- 
ding." 

The  stranger,  nevertheless,  and  the  Princess  likewise,  had  seen 
that  bitter  smile. 

Men  drank  liard  and  long  that  night ;  and  when  daylight  came, 
the  strangers  were  gone. 

In  the  morning  the  marriage  ceremony  was  performed ;  and 
then  began  the  pageant  of  leading  home  tlie  bride.  The  min- 
strels went  first,  harping  and  piping ;  then  King  Hannibal,  carry- 
ing his  bride  behind  iiim  on  a  pillion  ;  and  after  them  a  string  of 
servants  and  men-at-arms,  leading  country  ponies  laden  with  the 
bride's  dower.  Along  with  tliem,  unarmed,  sulky,  and  suspicious, 
walked  the  forty  Danes,  who  were  informed  that  they  should  go 
to  Marazion,  and  there  be  shipped  off  for  Ireland. 

Now,  as  all  men  know,  those  parts  of  Cornwall,  flat  and  open 
furze-downs  aloft,  are  cut,  for  many  miles  inland,  by  long  branches 
of  tide  river,  walled  in  by  woods  and  rocks,  wliich  rivers  join  at 
last  in  the  great  basin  of  Falmouth  harbor ;  and  by  crossing  one 
or  more  of  these,  the  bridal  party  would  save  many  a  mile  on 
their  road  towards  the  west. 

So  they  had  timed  their  journey  by  the  tides:  lest,  finding  low 
water  in  the  rivers,  they  should  have  to  wade  to  the  ferry-boats 
waist  deep  in  mud ;  and  going  down  the  steep  hillside,  through 
oak  and  ash  and  hazel  copse,  they  entered,  as  many  as  could,  a 
great  flat-bottomed  barge,  and  were  rowed  across  some  quarter  of 
a  mile,  to  land  under  a  jutting  crag,  and  go  up  again  by  a  similar 
path  into  the  woods. 

So  the  first  boat-load  went  up,  the  minstrels  in  front,  harping 
and  piping  till  the  greenwood  rang,  King  Hannibal  next,  with 
his  bride,  and  behind  him  spear-men  and  axe-men,  with  a  Dane 
between  every  two. 

When  they  had  risen  some  two  hundred  feet,  and  were  in  the 
heart  of  the  forest,  Hannibal  turned,  and  made  a  sign  to  the  men 
behind  hira. 

Then  each  pair  of  them  seized  the  Dane  between  them,  and 
began  to  bind  his  hands  behind  his  back. 

*  Hannibal,  still  a  common  name  in  Cornwall,  is  held  —  and  not  unlikely  — 
to  have  been  infroduced  there  by  the  ancient  Phoenician  colonists. 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.        77 

"  What  will  you  do  with  us  ?  " 

"  Send  you  back  to  Ireland,  —  a  king  never  breaks  his  word, 
—  but  pick  out  your  right  eyes  first,  to  show  your  master  how 
much  I  care  for  him.  Lucky  for  you  that  I  leave  you  an  eye 
apiece,  to  find  your  friend  the  harper,  whom  if  I  catch,  I  flay 
alive." 

"  You  promised  ! "  cried  the  Princess. 

"  And  so  did  you,  traitress  !  "  and  he  griped  her  arm,  which  wa» 
round  his  waist,  till  she  screamed.  "  So  did  you  promise  :  buf 
not  to  me.  And  you  shall  pass  your  bridal  night  in  my  dog-ken- 
nel, after  my  dog-whip  has  taught  you  not  to  give  rings  again  to 
wandering  harpers." 

The  wretched  Princess  shuddered  ;  for  she  knew  too  well  that 
such  an  atrocity  was  easy  and  common  enough.  She  knew  it 
well.  Why  should  she  not?  The  story  of  the  Cid's  Daugh- 
ters and  the  Knights  of  Carrion ;  the  far  more  authentic  one  of 
Robert  of  Belesme  ;  and  many  another  ugly  tale  of  the  early 
middle  age,  will  prove  but  too  certainly  that,  before  the  days  of 
chivalry  began,  neither  youth,  beauty,  nor  the  sacred  tie-s  of  mat- 
rimony, could  protect  women  from  the  most  horrible  outrages,  at 
the  hands  of  those  who  should  have  been  their  protectors.  It 
was  reserved  for  monks  and  inquisitors,  in  the  name  of  religion 
and  the  Gospel,  to  continue,  through  after  centuries,  those  brutali- 
ties toward  women  of  which  gentlemen  and  knights  had  grown 
ashamed,  save  when  (as  in  the  case  of  the  Albigense  crusaders) 
monks  and  inquisitors  bade  them  torture,  mutilate,  and  burn,  in 
the  name  of  Him  who  died  on  the  cross. 

But  the  words  had  hardly  passed  the  lips  of  Hannibal,  ere  he 
reeled  in  the  saddle,  and  fell  to  the  ground,  a  javelin  through  his 
heart. 

A  strong  arm  caught  the  Princess.  A  voice  which  she  knew 
bade  her  have  no  fear. 

"  Bind  your  horse  to  a  tree,  for  we  shall  want  him ;  and 
wait ! " 

Three  well-armed  men  rushed  on  the  nearest  Cornishraen,  and 
hewed  them  down.  A  fourth  unbound  the  Dane,  and  bade  him 
catch  up  a  weapon,  and  fight  for  his  life. 

A  second  pair  were  dispatched,  a  second  Dane  freed,  ere  a 
minute  was  over  ;  the  Cornishrnen,  struggling  up  the  narrow  path 
toward  the  shouts  above,  were  overpowered  in  detail  by  continu- 
ally increasing  numbers ;  and  ere  half  an  hour  was  over,  the 
whole  party  were  freed,  mounted  on  the  ponies,  and  making  their 
way  over  tlie  downs  toward  the  west. 

"  Noble,  noble  Hereward ! "  said  the  Princess,  as  she  sat  be- 
hind him  on  Hannibal's  horse.      "  I  knew  you  from  the  first 


78  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

moment ;   and  my  nurse  knew  you  too.     Is  she  here  ?     Is  she 
safe  ?  " 

"  I  have  taken  care  of  that.  She  has  done  us  too  good  service 
to  be  left  here,  and  be  hanged. " 

"  I  knew  you,  in  spite  of  your  hair,  by  your  eyes." 

"  Yes,"  said  Ilereward.     '*  It  is  not  every  man  who  carries  one 
gray  eye  and  one  blue.     The  more  difficult  for  me  to  go  mum- 
iftng  when  I  need." 
^"  But  how  came  you  hither,  of  all  places  in  the  world  ?  " 

"  When  you  sent  your  nurse  to  me  last  night,  to  warn  me  that 
treason  was  abroad,  it  was  easy  for  me  to  ask  your  road  to  Mara- 
zion ;  and  easier  too,  when  I  found  that  you  would  go  home  the 
very  way  we  came,  to  know  that  I  must  make  my  stand  here  or 
nowhere." 

"  The  way  you  came  ?     Then  where  are  we  going  now  ?  " 

"  Beyond  Marazion,  to  a  little  cove,  —  I  cannot  tell  its 
name.  There  lies  Sigtryg,  your  betrothed,  and  three  good  ships 
of  war." 

"  There  ?     Why  did  he  not  come  for  me  himself?  " 

"  Why  ?  Because  we  knew  nothing  of  what  was  toward.  We 
meant  to  have  sailed  straight  up  your  river  to  your  father's  town, 
and  taken  you  out  with  a  high  hand.  We  had  sworn  an  oath,  — 
which,  as  you  saw,  I  kept,  —  neither  to  eat  nor  drink  in  your 
house,  save  out  of  your  own  hands.  But  the  easterly  wind  would 
not  let  us  round  the  Lizard ;  so  we  put  into  that  cove,  and  there 
I  and  these  two  lads,  my  nephews,  offered  to  go  forward  as  spies, 
while  Sigtrj-^g  threw  up  an  earthwork,  and  made  a  stand  against 
the  Cornish.  We  meant  merely  to  go  back  to  him,  and  give  him 
news.  But  when  I  found  you  as  good  as  wedded,  I  had  to  do 
what  I  could  while  I  could ;  and  I  have  done  it." 

"  You  have,  my  noble  and  true  champion,"  said  she,  kissing 
him. 

"  Humph ! "  quoth  Hereward,  laughing.  "  Do  not  tempt  me 
by  being  too  grateful.  It  is  hard  enough  to  gather  honey,  like 
the  bees,  for  other  folks  to  eat.  What  if  I  kept  you  myself,  now 
I  have  got  you  ?  " 

"  Hereward ! " 

"  O,  there  is  no  fear,  pretty  lady.  I  have  other  things  to 
think  of  than  making  love  to  you,  —  and  one  is,  how  we  are  to 
get  to  our  ships,  and  moreover,  past  Marazion  town." 

And  hard  work  they  had  to  get  thither.  The  country  was 
soon  roused  and  up  in  arms  ;  and  it  was  only  by  wandering  a  three 
days'  circuit  through  bogs  and  moors,  till  the  ponies  were  utterly 
tired  out,  and  left  behind  (the  bulkier  part  of  the  dowry  being 
left  behind  with  them),  that  they  made  their  appearance  on  the 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OP  THE  ENGLISH.  79 

shore  of  Mount's  Bay,  Hereward  leading  the  Princess  in  triumph 
upon  Hannibal's  horse. 

After  which  they  all  sailed  away  for  Ireland,  and  there,  like 
young  Beichan,  — 

"  Prepared  another  wedding, 
With  all  their  hearts  so  full  of  glee." 

And  this  is  the  episode  of  the  Cornish  Princess,  as  told  by  L^ 
ofric  of  Bourne,  the  cunning  minstrel  and  warlike  priest.        ^ 


CHAPTER    VI. 

HOW  HEREWARD  WAS   WRECKED   UPON  THE  FLANDERS   SHORE. 

Hereward  had  drunk  his  share  at  Sigtryg's  wedding.  He 
had  helped  to  harry  the  lands  of  O'Brodar  till  (as  King  Ranald 
had  threatened)  there  was  not  a  sucking-pig  left  in  Ivark,  and 
the  poor  folk  died  of  famine,  as  they  did  about  e%'ery  seven 
years ;  he  had  burst  (says  the  chronicler)  through  the  Irish  camp 
with  a  chosen  band  of  Berserkers,  slain  O'Brodar  in  his  tent, 
brought  oiF  his  war-horn  as  a  trophy,  and  cut  his  way  back  to 
the  Danish  army,  —  a  feat  in  wliich  the  two  Siwards  were  griev- 
ously wounded  ;  and  had  in  all  things  shown  himself  a  daring  and 
crafty  captain,  as  careless  of  his  own  life  as  of  other  folks'. 

Then  a  great  home-sickness  had  seized  him.  He  would  go 
back  and  see  the  old  house,  and  the  cattle-pastures,  and  the  meres 
and  fens  of  his  boyhood.  He  would  see  his  widowed  mother. 
Perhaps  her  heart  was  softened  to  him  by  now,  as  his  was  toward 
her :  and  if  not,  he  could  show  her  that  he  could  do  without  her ; 
that  others  thought  him  a  fine  fellow  if  she  did  not,  Hereward 
knew  that  he  had  won  honor  and  glory  for  himself;  that  his 
name  was  in  the  mouths  of  all  warriors  and  sea-rovers  round  the 
coasts  as  the  most  likely  young  champion  of  the  time,  able  to 
rival,  if  he  had  the  opportunity,  the  prowess  of  Harold  Hard- 
raade  himself.  Yes,  he  would  go  and  see  his  mother :  he  would 
be  kind  if  she  was  kind ;  if  she  were  not,  he  would  boast  and 
swagger,  as  he  was  but  too  apt  to  do.  That  he  should  go  back  at 
the  risk  of  his  life;  that  any  one  who^found  him  on  English 
ground  might  kill  him ;  and  that  many  would  certainly  try  to  kill 
him,  he  knew  very  well.  But  that  only  gave  special  zest  to  the 
adventure. 

Martin  Lightfoot  heard  this  news  with  joy. 

"  I  have  no  more  to  do  here,"  said  he.  "  I  have  searched  and 
asked  far  and  wide  for  the  man  I  want,  and  he  is  not  on  the  Irish 
shores.  Some  say  he  is  gone  to  the  Orkneys,  some  to  Denmark. 
Never  mind ;  I  shall  find  him  before  I  die." 

"  And  for  whom  art  looking  ?  " 

"  For  one  Thoi'd  Gunlaugsson,  my  father." 

"  And  what  wantest  with  Mm  ?  " 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH.  81 

"  To  put  this  through  his  brain."     And  he  showed  his  axe. 

«  Thy  father's  brain  ?  " 

"  Look  you,  lord.  A  man  owes  his  father  naught,  and  his 
mother  all.  At  least  so  hold  I.  '  Man  that  is  of  woman  born,' 
say  all  the  world ;  and  they  say  right.  Now,  if  any  man  hang 
up  tliat  mother  by  hands  and  feet,  and  flog  her  to  death,  is  not  he 
that  is  of  that  mother  born  bound  to  revenge  her  upon  any  man, 
and  all  the  more  if  that  man  had  first  his  wicked  will  of  that 
poor  mother?  Considering  that  last,  lord,-  I  do  not  know  but 
what  I  am  bound  to  avenge  my  mother's  shame  upon  the  man, 
even  if  he  had  never  killed  her.  No,  lord,  you  need  not  try  to 
talk  this  out  of  my  head.  It  has  been  there  nigh  twenty  years ; 
and  I  say  it  over  to  myself  every  night  before  I  sleep,  lest  I 
should  forget  the  one  thing  which  I  must  do  before  I  die.  Find 
him  I  will,  and  find  him  I  shall,  if  there  be  justice  in  heaven 
above." 

So  Hereward  asked  Ranald  for  ships,  and  got  at  once  two  good 
vessels,  as  payment  for  his  doughty  deeds. 

One  he  christened  the  Gar  pike,  from  her  narrow  build  and 
long  beak,  and  the  other  the  Otter,  because,  he  said,  whatever 
she  gra{)pled  she  would  never  let  go  till  she  heard  the  bones 
crack.  They  were  excellent  new  "  snekrs,"  nearly  eighty  feet 
long  each ;  with  double  banks  for  twelve  oars  a-side  iu  the  waist, 
which  was  open,  save  a  fighting  gangway  along  the  sides ;  with 
high  poop  and  forecastle  decks ;  and  with  one  large  sail  apiece, 
embroidered  by  Sigtryg's  Princess  and  the  other  ladies  with  a 
huge  white  bear,  which  Herewai'd  had  chosen  as  his  ensign. 

As  for  men,  there  were  fifty  fellows  as  desperate  as  Herewai'd 
himself,  to  take  service  with  him  for  that  or  any  other  quest.  So 
they  ballasted  their  ships  with  great  pebbles,  stowed  under  the 
thwarts,  to  be  used  as  ammunition  in  case  of  boarding;  and  over 
them  the  barrels  of  ale  and  pork  and  meal,  well  covered  with 
tarpaulins.  They  stowed  in  the  cabins,  fore  and  aft,  their  weap- 
ons, —  swords,  spears,  axes,  bows,  chests  of  arrow-heads,  leatlier 
bags  of  bowstrings,  mail-shirts,  and  helmets,  and  fine  clothes  for 
holidays  and  fighting  days.  They  hung  their  shields,  after  the 
old  fashion,  out-board  along  the  gunwale,  and  a  right  gay  show 
they  made ;  and  so  rowed  out  of  Waterford  harbor  amid  the 
tears  of  the  ladies  and  the  cheers  of  the  men. 

But,  as  it  befell,  tlie  voyage  did  not  prosper.  Hereward  found 
his  vessels  under-manned,  and  had  to  sail  northward  for  fresh 
hands.  He  got  n§ne  in  Dublin,  for  they  were  all  gone  to  the 
Welsh  marches  to  help  Earl  Alfgar  and  King  Griffin.  So  he 
went  on  through  the  Hebrides,  intending,  of  course,  to  plunder 
as  he  went :  but  there  he  got  but  little  booty,  and  lost  several 
4*  P 


82  HEREWARD,   THE   LAST   OF   THE   ENGLISH. 

men.  So  he  went  on  again  to  the  Orkneys,  to  try  for  fresh  hands 
from  the  Norse  Earl  Hereof;  but  there  befell  a  fresh  mishap. 
They  were  followed  by  a  whale,  which  they  made  sure  was  a 
witch-whale,  and  boded  more  ill  luck  ;  and  accordingly  they  were 
struck  by  a  storm  in  the  Pentland  Frith,  and  the  poor  Garpike 
went  on  shore  on  Hoy,  and  was  left  there  forever  and  a  day,  her 
crew  being  hardly  saved,  and  very  little  of  her  cargo. 

However,  the  Otter  was  now  not  only  manned,  but  over 
manned ;  and  Hereward  had  to  leave  a  dozen  stout  fellows  in 
Kirkwall,  and  sail  southward  again,  singing  cheerily  to  his 
men, — 

"  Lightly  the  long -snake 

Leaps  after  tempests, 

Gayly  the  svin-gleam 

Glows  after  rahi. 

In  labor  and  daring 

Lies  luck  for  all  mortals, 

Foul  winds  and  foul  witch-wives 

Fray  women  alone." 

But  their  mishaps  were  not  over  yet.  They  were  hardly  out 
of  Stronsay  Frith  when  they  saw  the  witch-whale  again,  follow- 
ing them  up,  rolling  and  spouting  and  breaching  in  most  uncanny 
wise.  Some  said  that  they  saw  a  gray  woman  on  his  back ;  and 
they  knew  —  possibly  from  the  look  of  the  sky,  but  certainly  from 
the  whale's  behavior  —  that  there  was  more  heavy  weather  yet 
coming  from  the  northward. 

From  that  day  forward  the  whale  never  left  them,  nor  the 
wild  weather  neither.  They  were  beaten  out  of  all  reckoning. 
Once  they  thought  they  saw  low  land  to  the  eastward,  but  what 
or  where  who  could  tell  ?  and  as  for  making  it,  the  wind,  which 
had  blown  hard  from  northeast,  backed  against  the  sun  and  blew 
from  west ;  from  which,  as  well  as  from  the  witch-whale,  they 
expected  another  gale  from  north  and  round  to  northeast. 

The  men  grew  sulky  and  fearful.  Some  were  for  trying  to 
run  the  witch  down  and  break  her  back,  as  did  Frithiof  in  like 
case,  when  hunted  by  a  whale  with  two  hags  upon  his  back,  —  an 
excellent  recipe  in  such  cases,  but  somewhat  difficult  in  a  heavy 
sea.  Others  said  that  there  was  a  doomed  man  on  board,  and 
proposed  to  cast  lots  till  they  found  iiim  out,  and  cast  him  into 
the  sea,  as  a  sacrifice  to  /Egir  tlie  wave-god.  But  Hereward 
scouted  that  as  unmanly  and  cowardly,  and  .-ang,  — 

"  With  blood  of  my  bold  ones, 
With  bale  of  my  comrades, 
Thinks  .^Kgir,  brine-thirsty,        , 
His  throat  he  can  slake  ? 
Though  salt  spray,  shrill-sounding, 
Sweep  in  swan's-flights  above  us, 
True  heroes,  troth-plighted, 
Together  we  '11  die." 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       83 

At  last,  after  many  days,  their  strength  was  all  but  worn  out. 
They  had  long  since  given  over  rowing,  and  contented  them- 
eelves  with  running  under  a  close-reefed  canvas  whithersoever 
the  storm  should  choose.  At  night  a  sea  broke  over  them,  and 
would  have  swampe'd  the  Otter,  had  she  not  been  the  best  of 
sea-boats.  But  she  only  rolled  the  lee  shields  into  the  water  and 
out  again,  shook  herself,  and  went  on.  Nevertheless,  there  were 
three  men  on  the  poop  when  the  sea  came  in,  who  were  not  there 
when  it  went  out. 

Wet  and  wild  dawned  that  morning,  showing  naught  but  gray 
sea  and  gray  air.     Then  sang  Hereward,  — 

"  Cheerly,  my  sea-cocks 
Crow  for  the  day-dawn. 
Weary  and  wet  are  we. 
Water  beladen. 
Wetter  our  comrades, 
Whelmed  by  the  witch-whale. 
Us  Mgir  granted 
Grudging,  to  Gondul, 
•  Doomed  to  die  dry-shod, 

Daring  the  foe." 

Whereat  the  hearts  of  the  men  were  much  cheered. 

All  of  a  sudden,  as  is  the  wont  of  gales  at  dawn,  the  clouds 
rose,  tore  up  into  ribbons,  and  with  a  fierce  black  shower  or  two, 
blew  clean  away ;  disclosing  a  bright  blue  sky,  a  green  rolling 
eea,  and,  a  few  miles  off  to  leeward,  a  pale  yellow  line,  seen  only 
as  they  topped  a  wave,  but  seen  only  too  well.  To  keep  the  ship 
off  shore  was  impossible ;  and  as  they  drifted  nearer  and  nearer, 
the  line  of  sand-hills  rose,  uglier  and  more  formidable,  through 
the  gray  spray  of  the  surf. 

"  We  shall  die  on  shore,  but  not  dry-shod,"  said  Martin.  "  Do 
any  of  you  knights  of  the  tar-brush  know  whether  we  are  going 
to  be  drowned  in  Christian  waters  ?  I  should  like  a  mass  or  two 
lor  my  soul,  and  shall  die  the  happier  within  sight  of  a  church- 
tower." 

"  One  Dune  is  as  like  another  as  one  pea ;  we  may  be  any- 
where between  the  Texel  and  Cap  Gris  Nez,  but  I  think  nearer 
the  latter  than  the  former." 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  us,"  said  another.  "  If  we  had  gone 
ashore  among  those  Frieslandcrs,  we  should  have  been  only 
knocked  on  the  head  outright ;  but  if  we  fall  among  the  French- 
men, we  ^all  be  clapt  in  prison  strong,  and  tortured  till  we  find 
vansora." 

"  I  don't  see  that,"  said  Martin.  "  We  can  all  be  drowned  if 
we  hke,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Drowned  we  need  not  be,  if  we  be  men,"  said  the  old  sailing- 


84  HEREWARD,   THE   LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

master  to  Herevvard.  "  The  tide  is  full  high,  and  that  gives  us 
one  chance  for  our  lives.  Keep  her  head'  straight,  and  row  like 
fiends  when  we  are  once  in  the  surf,  and  then  beach  her  up  high 
and  dry,  and  take  what  befalls  after." 

And  what  was  likely  to  befall  was  ugly  enough.  Then,  as  cen- 
turies after,  all  wrecks  and  wrecked  men  were  public  prey ;  ship- 
wrecked mariners  were  liable  to  be  sold  as  slaves ;  and  the  petty 
counts  of  the  French  and  Flemish  shores  were  but  too  likely  to 
extract  ransom  by  prison  and  torture,  as  Guy  Earl  of  Ponthieu 
would  have  done  (so  at  least  William  Duke  of  Normandy  hinted) 
by  Harold  Godwinsson,  had  not  William,  for  his  own  politic  ends, 
begged  the  release  of  the  shipwrecked  earl. 

Already  they  had  been  seen  from  the  beach.  The  country 
folk,  who  were  prowling  about  the  shore  after  the  waifs  of  the 
storm,  deserted  "jetsom  and  lagend,"  and  crowded  to  meet  the 
richer  prize  which  was  coming  in  "  flotsom,"  to  become  "jetsom" 
in  its  turn. 

"  Axe-men  and  bow-men,  put  on  your  harness,  and  be  ready  ; 
but  neither  strike  nor  shoot  till  I  give  the  word.  We  must  land 
peaceably  if  we  can  ;  if  not,  we  will  die  fighting." 

So  said  Hereward,  and  took  the  rudder  into  his  own  hand. 
"  Now  then,"  as  she  rushed  into  the  breakers,  "  pull  together, 
rowers  all,  and  with  a  will." 

The  men  yelled,  and  sprang  from  the  thwarts  as  they  tugged  at 
the  oars.  The  sea  boiled  past  them,  surged  into  the  waist,  bhnded 
them  with  spray.  She  grazed  the  sand  once,  twice,  thrice,  leap- 
ing forward  gallantly  each  time ;  and  then,  pressed  by  a  huge 
wave,  drove  high  and  dry  upon  the  beach,  as  the  oars  snapt  right 
and  left,  and  the  men  tumbled  over  each  other  in  heaps. 

The  j^easants  swarmed  down  like  flies  to  a  carcass ;  but  they 
recoiled  as  there  rose  over  the  forecastle  bulwarks,  not  the  broad 
hats  of  peaceful  buscarles,  but  peaked  helmets,  round  red  shields, 
and  glittering  axes.  They  drew  back,  and  one  or  two  arrows 
flew  from  the  crowd  into  the  ship.  But  at  Hereward's  command 
no  arrows  were  shot  in  answer. 

"  Bale  her  out  quietly  ;  and  let  us  show  these  fellows  that  we 
are  not  afraid  of  them.     That  is  the  best  chance  of  peace." 

At  this  moment  a  mounted  party  came  down  between  the  sand- 
hills; it  might  be.  some  twenty  strong.  Before  them  rode  a  boy 
on  a  jennet,  and  by  him  a  clerk,  as  he  seemed,  upcjfi  a  mule. 
They  stopped  to  talk  with  the  peasants,  and  then  to  consult 
among  themselves. 

Suddenly  the  boy  turned  from  his  party;  and  galloping  down 
the  shore,  while  the  clerk  called  after  him  in  vain,  reined  up  his 
horse,  fetlock  deep  in  water,  within  ten  yards  of  the  ship's  bows. 


HERE  WARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH.  85 

"  Yield  yourselves  ! "  he  shouted,  in  French,  as  he  brandished 
a  hunting  spear.     "  Yield  yourselves,  or  die  !  " 

Hereward  looked  at  him  smiling,  as  he  sat  there,  keeping  the 
'head  of  his  frightened  horse  toward  the  ship  with  hand  and  heel, 
his  long  locks  streaming  in  the  wind,  his  face  full  of  courage  and 
command,  and  of  honesty  and  sweetness  withal ;  and  thought  that 
he  had  never  seen  so  fair  a  lad. 

"  And  who  art  thou,  thou  pretty,  bold  boy  ?  "  asked  Hereward, 
in  French. 

*'  I,"  said  he,  haughtily  enough,  as  resenting  Hereward's  famil- 
iar "thou,"  "am  Arnulf,  grandson  and  heir  of  Baldwin,  Marquis 
of  Flanders,  and  lord  of  this  land.  And  to  his  grace  I  call  on 
you  to  surrender  yourselves." 

Hereward  looked,  not  only  with  interest,  but  respect,  upon  the 
grandson  of  one  of  the  most  famous  and  prosperous  of  northern 
potentates,  the  descendant  of  the  migiity  Charlemagne  himself. 
He  turned  and  told  the  men  who  the  boy  was. 

"  It  would  be  a  good  trick,"  quoth  one,  "  to  catch  that  young 
whelp,  and  keep  him  as  a  hostage." 

"  Here  is  what  will  have  him  on  board  before  he  can  turn,"  said 
another,  as  he  made  a  running  noose  in  a  rope. 

"  Quiet,  men  !     Am  I  master  in  this  ship  or  you  ?  " 

Hereward  saluted  the  lad  courteously.  "  Verily  the  blood  of 
Baldwin  of  the  Iron  Arm  iias  not  degenerated.  I  am  happy  to 
behold  so  noble  a  son  of  so  noble  a  race." 

"  And  who  are  you,  who  speak  French  so  well,  and  yet  by 
your  dress  are  neither  French  nor  Fleming?" 

"  I  am  Harold  Naemansson,  the  Viking ;  and  these  my  men. 
I  am  here,  sailing  peaceably  for  England ;  as  for  yielding,  — 
mine  yield  to  no  living  man,  but  die  as  we  are,  weapon  in  hand. 
I  have  heard  of  your  grandfather,  that  he  is  a  just  man  and  a 
bountiful ;  therefore  take  this  message  to  him,  young  sir.  If  he 
have  wars  toward,  I  and  my  men  will  fight  for  him  with  ^11  our 
might,  and  earn  hospitality  and  ransom  with  our  only  treasure, 
which  is  our  swords.  But  if  he  be  at  peace,  then  let  him  bid  us 
go  in  peace,  for  we  are  Vikings,  and  must  fight,  or  rot  and  die." 

"You  are  Vikings?"  cried  the  boy,  pressing  his  horse  into  the 
foam  so  eagerly,  that  the  men,  mistaking  his  intent,  had  to  be  re- 
prest  again  by  Hereward.  "  You  are  Vikings  !  Then  come  on 
shore,  and  welcome.  You  shall  be  my  friends.  You  shall  be 
my  brothers.  I  will  answer  to  my  grandfather.  I  have  longed 
to  see  Vikings.     I  long  to  be  a  Viking  myself." 

"  By  the  hammer  of  Thor,"  cried  the  old  master,  "  and  thou 
would-t  make  a  bonny  one,  my  lad." 

Hereward  hesitated,  delighted  with  the  boy,  but  by  no  means 
sure  of  his  power  to  protect  them. 


86        HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

But  the  boy  rorle  back  to  his  companions,  who  had  by  this 
time  ridden  cautiously  down  to  the  sea,  and  talked  and  gesticu- 
lated eagerly. 

Then  the  clerk  rode  down  and  talked  with  Hereward. 

"  Are  you  Christians  ? "  shouted  he,  before  he  would  adven- 
ture himself  near  the  ship. 

'*  Christians  we  are,  Sir  Clerk,  and  dare  do  no  harm  to  a  man 
of  God." 

The  Clerk  rode  nearer;  his  handsome  palfrey,  furred  cloak, 
rich  gloves  and  boots,  moreover  his  air  of  command,  showed  that 
he  was  no  common  man. 

"  I,"  said  he,  "  am  the  Abbot  of  St.  Berlin  of  Sithiu,  and  tutor 
of  yonder  prince.  I  can  bring  down,  at  a  word,  against  you,  the 
Chatelain  of  St.  Omer,  with  all  his  knights,  besides  knights  and 
men-at-arms  of  my  own.  But  I  am  a'  man  of  peace,  and  not  of 
war,  and  would  have  no  blood  shed  if  I  can  help  it." 

"  Then  make  peace,"  said  Hereward.  ''  Your  lord  may  kill  us 
if  he  will,  or  have  us  for  his  guests  if  he  will.  If  he  does  the  first, 
we  shall  kill,  each  of  us,  a  few  of  his  men  before  we  die ;  if  the 
latter,  we  shall  kill  a  few  of  his  foes.  If  you  be  a  man  of  God, 
yoiT  will  counsel  him  accordingly." 

"  Alas !  alas !  "  said  the  Abbot,  with  a  shudder,  "  that,  ever 
since  Adam's  fall,  sinful  man  should  talk  of  nothing  but  slaying 
and  being  slain ;  not  knowing  that  his  soul  is  slain  already  by 
sin,  and  that  a  worse  death  awaits  him  hereafter  than  that  death 
of  the  body  of  which  he  makes  so  light ! " 

"  A  very  good  sermon,  my  Lord  Abbot,  to  listen  to  next  Sun- 
day morning:  but  we  are  hungry  and  wet  and  desperate  just 
now ;  and  if  you  do  not  settle  this  matter  for  us,  our  blood  will 
be  on  your  head,  —  and  may  be  your  own  likewise." 

The  Abbot  rode  out  of  the  water  faster  than  he  had  ridden  in, 
and  a  fresh  consultation  ensued,  after  which  the  boy,  with  a  warn- 
ing gesture  to  his  companions,  tui'ned  and  galloped  away  through 
the  sand-hills. 

"  He  is  gone  to  his  grandfather  himself,  I  verily  believe," 
quoth  Hereward. 

They  waited  for  some  two  hours,  unmolested ;  and,  true  to 
their  policy  of  seeming  recklessness,  shifted  and  dried  themselves 
as  well  as  they  could,  ate  what  provisions  were  unspoilt  by  the 
salt  water,  and,  broaching  the  last  barrel  of  ale,  drank  healths  to 
each  other  and  to  the  Flemings  on  shore. 

At  last  down  rode,  with  the  boy,  a  noble-looking  man,  and  be- 
hind him  more  knights  and  men-at-arms.  He  announced  himself 
as  Manasses,  Chatelain  St.  Omer,  and  repeated  the  demand  to 
surrender. 

"  There  is  no  need  for  it,"  said  Hereward.     "  We  are  akeady 


HEREWARD,  THE   LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH.  87 

that  young  prince's  gupsts.  He  has  said  that  we  shall  be  his 
friends  and  brothers.  He  has  said  that  he  will  answer  to  his 
grandfather,  the  great  Marquis,  wdiom  I  and  mine  shall  be  proud 
to  serve.     I  claim  the  word  of  a  descendant  of  Charlemagne." 

"  And  you  shall  have  it !  "  cried  the  boy.  "  Chatelain  !  Ab- 
bot !  these  men  are  mine.  They  shall  come  with  me,  and  lodge 
in  St.  Bertin." 

"  Heaven  forefend  !  "  murmured  the  Abbot. 

"  They  will  be  safe,  at  least,  within  your  ranf^arts,"  whispered 
the  Chatelain. 

"  And  they  shall  tell  me  about  the  sea.  Have  I  not  told  you 
how  I  long  for  \^ikings ;  how  I  will  have  Vikings  of  my  own, 
«nd  sail  the  seas  with  them,  like  ray  Uncle  Robert,  and  go  to 
Spain  and  fight  the  Moors,  and  to  Constantinople  and  marry  the 
Kaiser's  daughter  ?  Come,"  he  cried  to  Hereward,  "  come  on 
shore,  and  he  that  touches  you  or  your  ship,  touches  me !  " 

"  Sir  Chatelain  and  my  Lord  Abbot,"  said  Hereward,  "  you 
see  that,  Viking  though  I  be,  I  am  no  barbarous  heathen,  but  a 
French-speaking  gentleman,  like  yourselves.  It  had  been  easy 
for  me,  had  I  not  been  a  man  of  honor,  to  have  cast  a  rope,  as 
my  sailors  would  have  had  me  do,  over  that  young  boy's  fair 
head,  and  haled  him  on  board,  to  answer  for  my  life  with  his  own. 
But  I  loved  him,  and  trusted  him,  as  I  would  an  angel  out  of 
heaven  ;  and  I  trust  him  still.  To  him,  and  him  only,  will  I  yield 
myself,  on  condition  that  I  and  my  men  shall  keep  all  our  arras 
and  treasure,  and  enter  his  service,  to  fight  his  foes,  and  his 
grandfather's,  wheresoever  they  will,  by  land  or  sea." 

"  Faif  sir,"  said  the  Abbot,  "  pirate  though  you  call  yourself, 
you  speak  so  courtly  and  clerkly,  that  I,  too,  am  inclined  to  trust 
you ;  and  if  my  young  lord  will  have  it  so,  into  St.  Bertin  I  will 
receive  you,  till  our  lord,  the  Marquis,  shall  give  orders  about 
you  and  yours-" 

So  promises  were  given  all  round ;  and  Hereward  explained 
the  matter  to  the  men,  without  whose  advice  (for  they  were  all 
as  free  as  himself)  he  could  not  act. 

"  Needs  must,"  grunted  they,  as  they  packed  up  each  his  little 
valuables. 

Then  Hereward  sheathed  his  sword,  and  leaping  from  the  bow, 
came  up  to  the  boy. 

"  Put  your  hands  between  his,  fair  sir,"  said  the  Chatelain. 

"  That  is  not  the  manner  of  Vikings." 

And  he  took  the  boy's  right  hand,  and  grasped  it  in  the  plain 
English  fashion. 

"  There  is  the  hand  of  an  honest  man.  Corae  down,  men,  and 
take  this  young  lord's  hand,  and  serve  hira  in  the  wars  as  I  will  do." 

One  by  one  the  men  came  down ;  and  each  took  Arnulf  s  hand, 


88  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

and  sliook  it  till  the  lad's  face  grew  red.  But  none  of  them 
bowed,  or  made  obeisance.  They  looked  the  boy  full  in  the  face, 
and  as  they  stepped  back,  stared  round  upon  the  ring  of  armed 
men  with  a  smile  and  something  of  a  swagger. 

"  These  are  they  who  bow  to  no  man,  and  call  no  man  master," 
whispered  the  Abbot. 

And  so  they  were :  and  so  are  their  descendants  of  Scotland 
and  Northumbria,  unto  this  very  day. 

The  boy  sprang  from  his  horse,  and  walked  among  them  and 
round  tiiera  in  delight.  He  admired  and  handled  their  long- 
handled  double  axes;  their  short  sea-bows  of  horn  and  deer-sinew; 
their  red  Danish  jerkins ;  their  blue  sea-cloaks,  fastened  on  the 
shoulder  with  rich  brooche.s ;  and  the  gold  and  silver  bracelets  on 
their  wrists.  He  wondered  at  their  long  shaggy  beards,  and  still 
more  at  the  blue  patterns  with  which  the  English  among  them, 
Hereward  especially,  were  tattooed  on  throat  and  arm  and  knee. 

"  Yes,  you  are  Vikings,  — just  such  as  my  Uncle  Robert  tells 
me  of." 

Hereward  knew  well  the  exploits  of  Robert  le  Frison  in  Spain 
and  Greece.  "  I  trust  that  your  noble  uncle,"  he  asked,  "  is 
well  ?  He  was  one  of  us  poor  sea-cocks,  and  sailed  the  swan's 
path  gallantly,  rill  he  became  a  mighty  prince.  Here  is  a  man 
here  who  wa>  with  your  noble  uncle  in  Byzant." 

And  he  thrust  forward  the  old  master. 

The  boy's  delight  knew  no  bounds.  He  should  tell  him  all 
about  that  in  St.  Bertin. 

Then  he  rode  back  to  the  ship,  and  round  and  round  her  (for 
the  tide  by  that  time  had  left  her  high  and  dry),  and  \vondered 
at  her  long  snake-like  lines,  and  carvciu  stem  and  stern. 

"  Tell  me  about  this  ship.  Let  me  go  on  board  of  her.  I  have 
never  seen  a  ship  inland  at  Mons  there ;  and  even  here  there  are 
only  heavy  ugly  busses,  and  little  tishing-boats.  No.  You  must 
be  all  hungry  and  tired.  We  will  go  to  St.  Bertin  at  once,  and 
you  shall  be  feasted  royally.  Hearken,  villains  !  "  shouted  he  to 
the  ])easants.  "  This  ship  belongs  to  the  fair  sir  here,  —  my  guest 
and  friend ;  and  if  any  man  dares  to  steal  from  her  a  stave  or  a 
nail,  I  will  have  his  thiePs  hand  cut  off." 

"  The  ship,  fair  lord,"  said  Hereward,  "  is  yours,  not  mine. 
You  should  build  twenty  more  after  her  pattern,  and  man  them 
with  such  lads  as  these,  and  then  go  down  to 

'  Jliklagard  and  Spanialand, 
That  lie  so  far  on  the  lee,  0 ! ' 

as  did  your  noble  uncle  before  you." 

And  so  they  marched  inland,  after  the  boy  had  dismounted 
one  of  Ills  men,  and  put  Hereward  on  the  horse. 


HEBEWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.        89 

"  Yon  gentlemen  of  the  sea  can  I'ide  as  well  as  sail,"  said  the 
Chatelain,  as  he  remarked  with  some  surprise  Hereward's  per- 
fect seat  and  hand. 

"  We  should  soon  learn  to  fly  likewise,"  laughed  Hereward, 
"  if  there  were  any  booty  to  be  picked  up  in  the  clouds  there 
overhead " ;  and  he  rode  on  by  Arnulf  s  side,  as  the  lad  ques- 
tioned him  about  the  sea,  and  nothing  else. 

"Ah,  my  boy,"  said  Hereward  at  last,  "look  there,  and  let 
those  be  Vikings  who  must." 

And  he  pointed  to  the  rich  pastures,  broken  by  strips  of  corn- 
land  and  snug  farms,  which  stretched  between  the  sea  and  the 
great  forest  of  Flanders. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

But  Hereward  was  silent.  It  was  so  like  his  own  native  fens. 
For  a  moment  there  came  over  him  the  longing  for  a  home.  To 
settle  down  in  such  a  fair  fat  land,  and  call  good  acres  his  own ; 
and  marry  and  beget  stalwart  sons,  to  till  the  old  estate  when  he 
could  till  no  more.  Might  not  that  be  a  better  life  —  at  least  a 
happier  one  —  than  restless,  homeless,  aimless  adventure?  And 
now,  just  as  he  had  had  a  hope  of  peace,  —  a  hope  of  seeing  his 
own  land,  his  own  folk,  pei'haps  of  making  peace  with  his  mother 
and  his  king,  —  the  very  waves  would  not  let  him  rest,  but  sped 
him  forth,  a  storm-tossed  waif,  to  begin  life  anew,  fighting  he 
cared  not  whom  or  why,  in  a  strange  land. 

So  he  was  silent  and  sad  withal. 

"  Wiiat  does  he  mean?"  asked  the  boy  of  the  Abbot. 

"  He  seems  a  wise  man :  let  him  answer  for  himself." 

The  boy  asked  once  more. 

"  Lad  !  lad  ! "  said  Hereward,  waking  as  from  a  dream.  "  If 
you  be  heir  to  such  a  fair  land  as  that,  thank  God  for  it,  and 
pray  to  Him  that  you  may  rule  it  justly,  and  keep  it  in  peace,  as 
they  say  your  grandfather  and  your  father  do ;  and  leave  glory 
and  fame  and  the  Vikings'  bloody  trade  to  those  who  have 
neither  father  nor  mother,  wife  nor  land,  but  live  like  the  wolf 
of  the  wood,  from  one  meal  to  the  next." 

"  I  thank  you  for  those  words.  Sir  Harold,"  said  the  good  Ab- 
bot, while  the  boy  went  on  abashed,  and  Hereward  himself  was 
startled  at  his  own  saying,  and  rode  silent  till  they  crossed  the 
drawbridge  of  St.  Berlin,  and  entered  that  ancient  foitress,  so 
strong  that  it  was  the  hiding-place  in  war  time  for  all  the  treas- 
ures of  the  country,  and  so  sacred  withal  that  no  woman,  dead  or 
alive,  was  allowed  to  defile  it  by  her  presence ;  so  that  the  wife 
of  Baldwin  the  Bold,  ancestor  of  Arnulf,  wishing  to  lie  by  her 
husband,  had  to  remove  his  corpse  from  St.  Bertin  to  the  Abbey 
of  Blandigni,  where  the  Counts  of  Flanders  lay  in  glory  for 
many  a  generation. 


90  HEREWAED,  THE   LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

The  pirates  entered,  not  without  gloomy  distrust,  the  gates  of 
that  consecrated  fortress ;  while  the  monks  in  their  turn  were 
(and  with  some  reason)  considerably  frightened  when  they  were 
asked  to  entertain  as  guests  forty  Norse  rovers.  Loudly  did  the 
elder  among  them  bewail  (in  Latin,  lest  their  guests  should  under- 
stand too  much)  the  present  weakness  of  their  monastery,  where 
St.  Bertin  was  left  to  defend  himself  and  his  monks  all  alone 
against  the  wicked  world  outside.  Far  different  had  been  their 
case  some  hundred  and  seventy  years  before.  Then  St.  Valeri 
and  St.  Riquier  of  Ponthieu,  transported  thither  from  their  own 
resting-places  in  France  for  fear  of  the  invading  Northmen,  had 
joined  their  suffrages  and  merits  to  those  of  St.  Bertin,  with 
such  success  that  the  abbey  had  never  been  defiled  by  the  foot  of 
the  heathen.  But,  alas !  the  saints,  that  is  their  bodies,  after 
a  while  became  homesick  ;  and  St.  Valeri  appearing  in  a  dream 
to  Hugh  Capet,  bade  hioi  bring  them  back  to  France  in  spite  of 
Arnulf,  Count  of  those  parts,  who  wished  much  to  retain  so  valu- 
able an  addition  to  his  household  gods. 

But  in  vain.  Hugh  Capet  was  a  man  who  took  few  denials. 
"With  knights  and  men-at-arms  he  came,  and  Count  Arnulf  had 
to  send  home  the  holy  corpses  with  all  humility,  and  leave  St. 
Bertin  all  alone. 

Whereon  St.  Valeri  appeared  iu  a  dream  to  Hugh  Capet,  and 
said  unto  him,  "  Because  thou  hast  zealously  done  what  I  com- 
manded, thou  and  thy  successors  shall  reign  in  the  kingdom  of 
France  to  everlasting  generations."  * 

However,  there  was  no  refusing  the  grandson  and  heir  of  Count 
Baldwin  ;  and  the  hearts  of  the  monks  were  comforted  by  hearing 
that  Hereward  was  a  good  Christian,  and  that  most  of  his  crew 
had  been  at  least  baptized.  The  Abbot  therefore  took  courage, 
and  admitted  them  into  the  hospice,  with  solemn  warnings  as  to  the 
doom  which  they  might  expect  if  they  took  the  value  of  a  horSe- 
nail  from  the  patrimony  of  the  blessed  saint.  Was  he  less  power- 
ful or  less  careful  of  his  own  honor  than  St.  Lieven  of  Holihem, 
who,  not  more  than  fifty  years  before,  had  struck  stone-blind  four 
soldiers  of  the  Emperor  Henry's,  who  had  dared,  after  warning, 
to  plunder  the  altar  Pf  Let  them  remember,  too,  the  fate  of  their 
own  forefathers,  the  heathens  of  the  North,  and  the  check  which, 
one  hundred  and  seventy  years  before,  they  had  received  un<ler 
those  very  walls.  They  had  exterminated  the  people  of  "Walch- 
eren  ;  they  had  taken  prisoners  Count  Regnier ;  they  had  burnt 
Ghent,  Bruges,  and  St.  Omer  itself,  close  by ;  they  had  left  naught 

*  Histoire  des  Comtes  de  Flandre,  par  E.  le  Glay.    E.  gestis  SS.  Eicharii  et 
"Walerici. 
t  Ibid. 


J 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.        91 

between  the  Scheldt  and  the  Somme,  save  stark  corpses  and  black- 
ened ruins.  What  could  withstand  them  till  they  dared  to  lift 
audacious  hands  against  the  heavenly  lord  who  sleeps  there  in 
Sithiu  ?  Then  they  poured  down  in  vain  over  the  Heilig-Veld, 
innumerable  as  the  locusts.  Poor  monks,  strong  in  the  protection 
of  the  holy  Bertin,  sallied  out  and  smote  them  hip  and  thigh,  sing- 
ing their  psalms  the  while.  The  ditches  of  the  fortress  were 
filled  with  unbaptized  corpses  ;  the  piles  of  vine-twigs  which  they 
lighted  to  burn  down  the  gates  turned  their  flames  into  the 
Norsemen's  faces  at  the  bidding  of  St.  Bertin  ;  and  they  fled  from 
that  temporal  fire  to  descend  into  that  which  is  eternal,  while  the 
gates  of  the  pit  were  too  narrow  for  the  multitude  of  their  mis- 
creant souls.* 

So  the  Norsemen  heard,  and  feared ;  and  only  cast  longing 
eyes  at  the  gold  and  tapestries  of  the  altars,  when  they  went  in  to 
mass. 

For  the  good  Abbot,  gaining  courage  still  further,  had  pointed 
out  to  Hereward  and  his  men  that  it  had  been  surely  by  the 
merits  and  suffrages  of  the  blessed  St.  Bertin  that  they  had  es- 
caped a  watery  grave. 

Hereward  and  his  men,  for  their  part,  were  not  inclined  to  deny 
the  theory.  That  they  had  miraculously  escaped,  from  the  acci- 
dent of  the  tide  being  high,  they  knew  full  well;  and  that  St. 
Bertin  should  have  done  them  the  service  was  probable  enough. 
He,  of  course,  was  lord  and  master  in  his  own  country,  and  very 
probably  a  few  miles  out  to  sea  likewise. 

So  Hereward  assured  the  Abbot  that  he  had  no  mind  to  eat  St. 
Bertin's  bread,  or  accept  his  favors,  without  paying  honestly  for 
them ;  and  after  mass  he  took  from  his  shoulders  a  handsome  silk 
cloak  (the  only  one  he  had),  with  a  great  Scotch  Cairngorm 
brooch,  and  bade  them  buckle  it  on  the  shoulders  of  the  great 
image  of  St.  Bertin. 

At  which  St.  Bertin  was  so  pleased  (being,  like  many  saints, 
male  and  female,  somewhat  proud  after  their  death  of  the  finery 
which  they  despised  during  life),  that  he  appeared  that  night  to  a 
certain  monk,  and  told  him  that  if  Hereward  would  continue  duly 
to  honor  him,  the  blessed  St.  Bertin,  and  his  monks  at  that  place, 
he  would,  in  his  turn,  insure  him  victory  in  all  his  battles  by  land 
and  sea. 

After  which  Hereward  stayed  quietly  in  the  abbey  certain 
days ;  and  young  Arnulf,  in  spite  of  all  I'emonstrances  from  the 
Abbot,  would  never  leave  his  side  till  he  had  heard  from  him  and 
from  his  men  as  much  of  their  adventures  as  they  thought  it  pru- 
dent to  relate. 

*  This  gallant  feat  was  performed  in  A.  D.  891. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

HOW  HEREWARD  WENT   TO   THE  WAR  AT   GUISNES. 

The  dominion  of  Baldwin  of  Lille,  —  Baldwin  the  Debonair, 
—  Marquis  of  Flanders,  and  just  then  the  greatest  potentate  in 
Europe  after  the  Kaiser  of  Germany  and  the  Kaiser  of  Constan- 
tinople, extended  from  the  Somme  to  the  Scheldt,  including  thus 
much  territory  which  now  belongs  to  France.  His  forefathers 
had  ruled  there  ever  since  the  days  of  the  "  Foresters"  of  Char- 
lemagne, who  held  the  vast  forests  against  the  heathens  of  the 
fens,  and  of  that  famous  Baldwin  Bras-de-fer, —  who,  when  the 
foul  fiend  rose  out  of  the  Scheldt,  and  tried  to  drag  him  down, 
tried  cold  steel  upon  him  (being  a  practical  man),  and  made  his 
ghostly  adversary  feel  so  sorely  the  weight  of  the  "  iron  arm," 
that  he  retired  into  his  native  mud,  —  or  even  lower  still. 

He,  like  a  daring  knight  as  he  was,  ran  off  with  his  (so  some 
say)  early  love,  Judith,  daughter  of  Charles  the  Bald  of  France, 
a  descendant  of  Charlemagne  himself.  Married  up  to  Ethelwulf 
of  England,  and  thus  stepmother  of  Alfred  the  Great,  —  after 
his  death  behaving,  alas  for  her  !  not  over  wisely  or  well,  she 
had  vei'ified  the  saying : 

"  Nous  revenons  toujours 
A  nos  premiers  amours," 

and  ran  away  with  Baldwin. 

Charles,  furious  that  one  of  his  earls,  a  mere  lieutenant  and 
creature,  should  dare  to  marry  a  daughter  of  Charlemagne's 
house,  would  have  attacked  him  with  horse  and  foot,  fire  and 
sword,  had  not  Baldwin  been  the  only  man  who  could  defend  his 
northern  frontier  again >t  the  heathen  Norsemen. 

The  Pope,  as  Charles  was  his  good  friend,  fulminated  against 
Baldwin  the  excommunication  destined  for  him  who  stole  a 
widow  for  his  wife,  and   all   his   accomplices. 

Baldwin  and  Judith  went  straight  to  Rome,  and  told  their 
story  to  the  Pope. 

He,  honest  man,  wrote  to  Charles  the  Bald  a  letter  which  still 
remains,  —  alike  merciful,  sentimental,  and  politic,  with  its  usual 
ingrained  element  of  what  we  now  call  (from  the  old  monkish 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  93 

word  "  cantare  ")  cant.  Of  Baldwin's  horrible  wickedness  there 
is  no  doubt.  Of  his  repentance  (in  all  matters  short  of  amend- 
ment of  life,  by  giving  up  the  fair  Judith),  still  less.  But  the 
Pope  has  "  another  motive  for  so  acting.  He  fears  lest  Baldwin, 
under  the  weight  of  Charles's  wrath  and  indignation,  should 
make  alliance  with  the  Normans,  enemies  of  God  and  the  holy 
Church ;  and  thus  an  occasion  arise  of  peril  and  scandal  for  the 
people  of  God,  whom  Charles  ought  to  rule,"  &c.,  &c.,  which  if 
it  happened,  it  would  be  worse  for  them  and  for  Charles's  own 
soul. 

To  which  very  sensible  and  humane  missive  (times  and  creeds 
being  considered),  Chai-les  answered,  after  pouting  and  sulking, 
by  making  Baldwin  bona  fide  king  of  all  between  Somme  and 
Scheldt,  and  leaving  him  to  raise  a  royal  race  from  Judith,  the 
wicked  and  the  fair. 

This  all  happened  about  A.  D.  863.  Two  hundred  years  after, 
there  ruled  over  that  same  land  Baldwin  the  Debonair,  as  "  Mar- 
quis of  tlie  Flamands." 

Baldwin  had  had  his  troubles.  He  had  fought  the  Count  of 
Holland.  He  had  fought  the  Emperor  of  Germany ;  during 
which  war  he  had  burnt  the  cathedral  of  Nimeguen,  and  did 
other  unrighteous  and  unwise  things ;  and  had  been  beaten 
after  all. 

Baldwin  had  had  his  troubles,  and  had  deserved  them.  But 
he  had  had  his  glories,  and  liad  deserved  them  likewise.  He 
had  cut  the  Foss^  Neuf,  or  new  dike,  which  parted  Artois  from 
Flanders.  He  had  so  beautified  the  cathedral  of  Lille,  that  he 
was  called  Baldwin  of  Lille  to  his  dying  day.  He  had  married 
Adela,  the  queen  countess,  daughter  of  the  King  of  France. 
He  had  become  tutor  of  Philip,  the  young  King,  and  more  or 
less  thereby  regent  of  the  north  of  France,  and  had  fulfilled  his 
office  wisely  and  well.  He  had  married  his  eldest  son,  Baldwin 
the  Good,  to  the  terrible  sorceress  Richilda,  heiress  of  Hainault, 
wherefore  the  bridegroom  was  named  Baldwin  of  Mons.  He  had 
married  one  of  his  daughters,  Matilda,  to  William  of  Normandy, 
afterwards  the  Conqueror;  and  another,  Judith,  to  Tosti  God- 
winsson,  the  son  of  the  great  Earl  Godwin  of  England.  She 
afterwards  married  Welf,  Duke  of  Bavaria;  whereby,  it  may 
be,  the  blood  of  Baldwin  of  Flanders  runs  in  the  veins  of  Queen 
Victoiia. 

And  thus  there  were  few  potentates  of  the  North  more  feared 
and  respected  than  Baldwin,  the  good-natured  Earl  of  Flanders. 

But  one  sore  thorn  in  the  side  he  had,  which  other  despots 
after  him  shared  with  him,  and  with  even  worse  success  in  ex- 
tracting it,  —  namely,  the  valiant  men  of  Scaldmariland,  which 


94       HEREWAKD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

we  now  call  Holland.  Of  them  hereafter.  At  the  moment  of 
Hereward's  arrival,  he  was  troubled  with  a  lesser  thorn,  the 
Count  of  Guisnes,  who  would  not  pay  him  up  certain  dues,  and 
otherwise  acknowledge  his  sovereignty. 

Therefore  when  the  Chatelain  of  St.  Omer  sent  him  word  to 
Bruges  that  a  strange  Viking  had  landed  with  his  crew,  calling 
himself  Harold  Naemansson,  and  offering  to  take  service  with 
him,  he  returned  for  answer  that  the  said  Harold  might  make 
proof  of  his  faith  and  prowess  upon  the  said  Count,  in  which,  if 
he  acquitted  himself  like  a  good  knight,  Baldwin  would  have 
further  dealings  with  him. 

So  the  Chatelain  of  St.  Omer,  with  all  his  knights  and  men- 
at-arms,  and  Hereward  with  his  sea-cocks,  marched  northwest 
up  to  Guisnes,  with  little  Arnulf  cantering  alongside  in  high 
glee ;  for  it  was  the  first  war  that  he  had  ever  seen. 

And  they  came  to  the  Castle  of  Guisnes,  and  summoned  the 
Count,  by  trumpet  and  herald,  to  pay  or  fight. 

Wheieon,  the  Count  preferring  the  latter,  certain  knights  of 
his  came  forth  and  challenged  the  knights  of  St.  Omer  to  fight 
them  man  to  man.  Whereon  there  was  the  usual  splintering 
of  lances  and  slipping  up  of  horses,  and  hewing  at  heads  and 
shoulders  so  well  defended  in  mail  that  no  one  was  much  hurt. 
The  archers  and  arbalit^ters,  meanwhile,  amused  themselves  with 
shooting  at  the  ca-tle  walls,  out  of  which  they  chipped  several 
small  pieces  of  stone.  And  when  they  were  all  tired,  they  drew 
oflf  on  both  sides,  and  went  in  to  dinner. 

At  which  Hereward's  men,  who  were  accustomed  ta  a  more 
serious  fashion  of  fighting,  stood  by,  mightily  amused,  and  vowing 
it  was  as  pretty  a  play  as  ever  they  saw  in  their  lives. 

The  next  day  the  same  comedy  was  repeated. 

"  Let  me  go  in  against  those  knights,  Sir  Chatelain,"  asked 
Hereward,  who  felt  the  lust  of  battle  tingling  in  him  from  head 
to  heel ;  "  and  try  if  I  cannot  do  somewhat  towards  deciding  all 
this.  If  we  fight  no  faster  than  we  did  yesterday,  our  beards  will 
be  grown  down  to  our  knees  before  we  take  Guisnes." 

"  Let  my  Viking  go  !  "  cried  Arnulf.  "  Let  me  see  him  fight ! " 
as  if  he  had  been  a  pet  gamecock  or  bulldog. 

"  You  can  bi'eak  a  lance,  fine  sir,  if  it  please  you,"  said  the 
Chatelain. 

"  I  break  more  than  lances,"  quoth  Hereward  as  he  cantered  off. 

"  You,"  said  he  to  his  men,  "  draw  round  hither  to  the  left ; 
and  when  I  drive  the  Frenchmen  to  the  right,  make  a  run  for  it, 
and  get  between  them  and  the  castle  gate ;  and  we  will  try  the 
Danish  axe  against  their  horses'  legs." 

Then   Hereward   spurred  his  horse,   shouting,  "  A  bear !    a 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.        95 

bear ! "  and  dashed  into  the  press ;  and  therein  did  mightily,  like 
any  Turpin  or  Roland,  till  he  saw  lie  on  the  ground,  close  to  the 
castle  gate,  one  of  the  Chatelain's  knights  with  four  Guisnes 
knights  around  him.  Then  at  those  knights  he  rode,  and  slew 
them  every  one  ;  and  mounted  that  wounded  knight  on  his  own 
horse  and  led  him  across  the  field,  though  the  archers  sliot  sore  at 
him  from  the  wall.  And  when  the  press  of  knights  rode  at  him, 
his  Danish  men  got  between  them  and  the  castle,  and  made  a 
stand  to  cover  him.  Then  the  Guisnes  knights  rode  at  them 
scornfully,  crying,  — 

"  What  footpad  churls  have  we  here,  who  fancy  they  can  face 
horsed  knights  ?  " 

But  they  did  not  know  the  stuff  of  the  Danish  men  ;  who  all 
shouted,  "A  bear!  a  bear!"  and  turned  the  lances'  points  with 
their  targets,  and  hewed  off  the  horses'  heads,  and  would  have 
hewed  off  the  riders'  likewise,  crying  that  the  bear  must  be  fied, 
had  not  Hereward  bidden  them  give  quarter  according  to  the 
civilized  fashion  of  France  and  Flanders.  Wliereon  all  the 
kniglits  who  were  not  taken  rode  right  and  left,  and  let  them  pass 
through  in  peace,  with  several  prisoners,  and  him  whom  Here- 
ward had  rescued. 

At  which  little  Arnulf  was  as  proud  as  if  he  had  done  it  him- 
self; and  the  Chatelain  sent  word  to  Baldwin  that  the  new-comer 
was  a  prudhomme  of  no  common  merit ;  while  the  heart  of  the 
Count  of  Guisnes  became  as  water  ;  and  his  knights,  both  those 
who  were  captives  and  those  who  were  not,  complained  indig- 
nantly of  the  unchivalrous  trick  of  the  Danes,  —  how  villanous 
for  men  on  foot,  not  only  to  face  knights,  but  to  bring  them  down 
to  their  own  standing  ground  by  basely  cutting  off  their  horses' 
heads ! 

To  which  Hereward  answered,  that  he  knew  the  rules  of  chiv- 
alry as  well  as  any  of  them  ;  but  he  was  hired,  not  to  joust  at  a 
tournament,  but  to  make  the  Count  of  Guisnes  pay  his  lord  Bald- 
win, and  make  him  pay  he  would. 

The  next  day  he  bade  his  men  sit  still  and  look  on,  and  leavo 
him  to  himself.  And  when  the  usual  "  monomachy  "  began,  he 
singled  out  the  burliest  and  boldest  knight  whom  he  saw,  rode 
up  to  him,  lance  point  in  air,  and  courteously  asked  him  to  come 
and  be  killed  in  fair  fight.  The  knight  being,  says  the  chroni- 
cler, "  magnificent  in  valor  of  soul  and  counsel  of  war,  and  held 
to  be  as  a  lion  in  fortitude  throughout  the  army,"  and  seeing  that 
Hereward  was  by  no  means  a  large  or  heavy  man,  replied  as 
courteously,  that  he  should  have  great  pleasure  in  trying  to  kill 
Hereward.  On  which  they  rode  some  hundred  yards  out  of 
the  press,  calling  out  that  they  were  to  be  left  alone  by  both 


96  HEREWAPvD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

sides,  for  it  was  an  honorable  duel,  and,  turning  their  horses, 
charged. 

After  which  act  they  found  themselves  and  their  horses  all 
four  in  a  row,  sitting  on  their  hind-quarters  on  the  ground,  amid 
the  fragments  of  their  lances. 

"  Well  ridden  ! "  shouted  they  both  at  once,  as  they  leaped  up 
laughing  and  drew  their  swords. 

After  which  they  hammered  away  at  each  other  merrily  in 
"the  devil's  smithy";  the  sparks  flew,  and  the  iron  rang,  and  all 
men  stood  still  to  see  that  gallant  fight. 

So  they  watched  and  cheered,  till  Hereward  struck  his  man 
such  a  blow  under  the  ear,  that  he  dropped,  and  lay  like  a  log. 

"  I  think  I  can  carry  you,"  quoth  Hereward,  and  picking  him 
up,  he  threw  him  over  his  shoulder,  and  walked  toward  his  men. 

"  A  bear !  a  bear  ! "  shouted  they  in  delight,  laughing  at  the 
likeness  between  Hereward's  attitude,  and  that  of  a  bear  wad- 
dling off  on  his  hind  legs  with  his  prey  in  his  arms. 

''  He  should  have  killed  his  bullock  outright  before  he  went  to 
carry  him.     Look  there!" 

And  the  knight,  awaking  from  his  swoon,  struggled  violently 
(says  Leofric)  to  escape. 

But  Hereward,  though  the  smaller,  was  the  stronger  man  ;  and 
crushing  him  in  his  arms,  walked  on  steadily. 

"  Knights,  to  the  rescue !  Hoibricht  is  taken ! "  shouted  they 
of  Guisnes,  galloping  towards  him. 

"  A  bear  !  a  bear  !  To  me,  Biornssons  !  To  me,  Vikings  all !  " 
shouted  Hereward.  And  the  Danes  leapt  up,  and  ran  toward 
him,  axe  in  hand. 

The  Chatelain's  knights  rode  up  likewise  ;  and  so  it  befell,  that 
Hereward  carried  his  prisoner  safe  into  camp. 

"  And  who  are  you,  gallant  knight  ?  "  asked  he  of  his  prisoner. 

"  Hoibricht,  nephew  of  Eustace,  Count  of  Guisnes." 

"  So  I  suppose  you  will  be  ransomed.    Till  then  —  Armorer!" 

And  the  hapless  Hoibricht  found  himself  chained  and  fettered, 
and  sent  off  to  Hereward's  tent,  under  the  custody  of  Martin 
Lightfoot. 

'•  The  next  day,"  says  the  chronicler,  "  the  Count  of  Guisnes, 
stupefied  with  grief  at  the  loss  of  his  nephew,  sent  the  due  honor 
and  service  to  his  prince,  besides  gifts  and  hostages." 

And  so  ended  the  troubles  of  Baldwin,  and  Eustace  of  Guisnes. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

HOW  A  FAIR  LADY  EXERCISED   THE  MECHANICAL  ART   TO  WIN 
HEREWARD'S  LOVE. 

The  fair  Torfrida  sat  in  an  upper  room  of  her  mother's  house 
in  St.  Omer,  alternately  looking  out  of  the  window  and  at  a  book 
of  mechanics.  In  the  garden  outside,  the  wryneck  (as  is  his 
fashion  in  May)  was  calling  Pi-pi-pi  among  the  gooseberry 
bushes,  till  the  cob-walls  rang  again.  In  the  book  was  a  Latin 
recipe  for  drying  the  poor  wryneck,  and  using  him  as  a  philtre 
which  should  compel  the  love  of  any  person  desired.  Mechanics, 
it  must  be  understood,  in  those  days  were  considered  as  identical 
with  mathematics,  and  those  again  with  astrology  and  magic; 
so  that  the  old  chronicler,  who  says  that  Torfrida  was  skilled  in 
"the  mechanic  art,"  uses  the  word  in  the  same  sense  as  does  the 
author  of  the  History  of  Ramsey,  who  tells  us  how  a  certain 
holy  bishop  of  St.  Dunstan's  party,  riding  down  to  Corfe  through 
the  forest,  saw  the  wicked  queen-mother  Elfrida  (her  who  had 
St.  Edward  stabbed  at  Corfe  Gate)  exercising  her  "  mechanic 
art,"  under  a  great  tree ;  in  plain  English,  performing  heathen 
incantations ;  and  how,  when  she  saw  that  she  was  discovered, 
she  tempted  him  to  deadly  sin :  but  when  she  found  him  proof 
against  allurement,  she  had  him  into  her  bower ;  and  there  the 
enchantress  and  her  ladies  slew  him  by  thrusting  red-hot  bodkins 
under  his  arms,  so  that  the  blessed  man  was  martyred  without 
any  sign  of  wound.  Of  all  which  let  every  man  believe  as 
much  as  he  list. 

Torfrida  had  had  peculiar  opportunities  of  learning  mechanics. 
The  fairest  and  richest  damsel  in  St.  Omer,  she  had  been  left 
early  by  her  father  an  orphan,  to  the  care  of  a  superstitious 
mother  and  of  a  learned  uncle,  the  Abbot  of  St.  Bertin.  Her 
mother  was  a  Proven9ale,  one  of  those  Arlesiennes  whose  dark 
Greek  beauty  still  shines,  like  diamonds  set  in  jet,  in  the  door- 
ways of  the  quaint  old  city.  Gay  enough  in  her  youth,  she  had, 
like  a  true  Southern  woman,  taken  to  superstition  in  her  old  age ; 
and  spent  her  days  in  the  churches,  leaving  Torfrida  to  do  and 
learn  what  she  would.  Her  nurse,  moreover,  was  a  Lapp  wo- 
man, carried  off  in  some  pirating  foray,  and  skilled  in  all  the 
5  G 


98  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

sorceries  for  which  the  Lapps  were  famed  throughout  the  North. 
Her  uncle,  partly  from  good-nature,  partly  from  a  pious  hope 
that  slie  might  "  enter  religion,"  and  leave  her  wealth  to  the 
Church,  had  made  her  his  pupil,  and  taught  her  the  mysteries  of 
books  ;  and  she  had  proved  to  be  a  strangely  apt  scholar.  Gram- 
mar, rhetoric,  Latin  prose  and  poetry,  such  as  were  taught  in 
those  days,  she  mastered  ere  she  was  grown  up.  Then  she  fell 
upon  romance,  and  Charlemagne  and  his  Paladins,  the  heroes 
of  Troy,  Alexander  and  his  generals,  peopled  her  imagination. 
She  had  heard,  too,  of  the  great  necromancer  Virgilius  (for  into 
such  the  middle  age  transformed  the  poet),  and,  her  fancy  already 
excited  by  her  Lapp  nurse's  occult  science,  she  began  eagerly  to 
court  forbidden  lore. 

Forbidden,  indeed,  magic  was  by  the  Church  in  public ;  but  as 
a  reality,  not  as  an  imposture.  Those  whose  consciences  were 
tough  and  their  faith  weak,  had  little  scruple  in  applying  to  a 
witch,  and  asking  help  from  the  powers  below,  when  the  saints 
above  were  slack  to  hear  them.  Churchmen,  even,  were  bold 
enough  to  learn  the  mysteries  of  nature,  Algebra,  Judicial  Astrol- 
ogy, and  the  occult  powers  of  herbs,  stones,  and  animals,  from 
the  Mussulman  doctors  of  Cordova  and  Seville ;  and,  like  Pope 
Gerbert,  mingle  science  and  magic,  in  a  fashion  excusable  enough 
in  days  when  true  inductive  science  did  not  exist. 

Nature  had  her  miraculous  powers,  —  how  far  good,  how  far 
evil,  who  could  tell  ?  Tlie  belief  that  God  was  the  sole  maker 
and  ruler  of  the  universe  was  conl'used  and  darkened  by  the 
cross-belief,  that  the  material  world  had  fallen  under  the  dominion 
of  Satan  and  his  demons  ;  that  millions  of  spirits,  good  and  evil 
in  every  degree,  exercised  continually  powers  over  crops  and 
cattle,  mines  and  well.'*,  storms  and  lightning,  health  and  disease. 
Riches,  honors,  and  royalties,  too,  were  under  the  command  of 
the  powers  of  darkness.  For  that  generation,  which  was  but  too 
apt  to  take  its  Bible  in  hand  upside  down,  had  somehow  a  firm 
faith  in  the  word  of  the  Devil,  and  beUeved  devoutly  his  some- 
what startling  assertion,  that  the  kingdoms  of  the  world  were  his, 
and  the  glory  of  them ;  for  to  him  they  were  delivered,  and  to 
whomsoever  he  would  he  gave  them  :  while  it  had  a  proportion- 
ally weak  faith  in  our  Lord's  answer,  that  they  were  to  worship 
and  serve  the  Lord  God  alone.  How  far  these  powers  extended, 
how  far  they  might  be  counteracted,  how  far  lawfully  employed, 
were  questions  which  exercised  the  minds  of  men,  and  produced 
a  voluminous  literature  for  several  centuries,  till  the  search  died 
out,  for  very  weariness  of  failure,  at  the  end  of  the  seventeenth 
century. 

The  Abbot  of  St.  Berlin,  therefore,  did  not  hesitate  to  keep  in 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  99 

nis  private  library  more  than  one  volume  which  he  would  not 
have  willingly  lent  to  the  simple  monks  under  his  charge  ;  nor  to 
Tortrida  either,  had  she  not  acquired  so  complete  a  command 
over  the  good  old  man,  that  he  could  deny  her  nothing. 

So  she  read  of  Gerbert,  Pope  Silvester  II.,  who  had  died  only 
a  generation  back  :  how  (to  quote  William  of  Malmesbury)  "  he 
learned  at  Seville  till  he  surpassed  Ptolemy  with  the  astrolabe, 
Alcandrus  in  astronomy,  and  Julius  Firmicus  in  judicial  astrol- 
ogy ;  how  he  learned  what  the  singing  and  flight  of  birds  por- 
tended, and  acquired  the  art  of  calling  up  spirits  from  hell ;  and, 
in  short,  whatever  —  hurtful  or  healthful  —  human  curiosity  had 
discovered,  besides  the  lawful  sciences  of  arithmetic  and  astron- 
omy, music  and  geometry  " ;  how  he  acquired  from  the  Saracens 
the  abacus  (a  counting  table)  ;  how  he  escaped  from  the  Moslem 
magician,  his  tutor,  by  making  a  compact  with  the  foul  fiend,  and 
putting  himself  beyond  the  power  of  magic,  by  hanging  himself 
under  a  wooden  bridge  so  as  to  touch  neither  earth  nor  water ; 
how  he  taught  Robert,  King  of  France,  and  Otto  the  Kaiser ; 
how  he  made  an  hydraulic  organ  which  played  tunes  by  steam, 
which  stood  even  then  in  the  Cathedral  of  Rheims  ;  how  he  dis- 
covered in  the  Campus  Martins  at  Rome  wondrous  treasures, 
and  a  golden  king  and  queen,  golden  courtiers  and  guards,  all 
lighted  by  a  single  carbuncle,  and  guarded  by  a  boy  with  a  bent 
bow  ;  who,  when  Gerbert's  servant  stole  a  golden  knife,  shot 
an  arrow  at  that  carbuncle,  and  all  was  darkness,  and  yells  of 
demons. 

All  this  Torfrida  had  read ;  and  read,  too,  how  Gerbert's 
brazen  head  had  told  him  that  he  should  be  Pope,  and  not  die  till 
he  had  sung  mass  at  Jerusalem;  and  how  both  had  come  true, — 
the  latter  in  mockery ;  for  he  was  stricken  with  deadly  sickness 
in  Rome,  as  .he  sang  mass  at  the  church  called  Jerusalem,  and 
died  horribly,  tearing  himself  in  pieces. 

Which  terrible  warning  had  as  little  effect  on  Torfrida  as  other 
terrible  warnings  have  on  young  folk,  who  are  minded  to  eat  of 
the  fruit  of  the  tree  of  knowledge  of  good  and  evil. 

So  Torfrida  beguiled  her  lonely  life  in  that  dull  town,  looking 
out  over  dreary  flats  and  muddy  dikes,  by  a  whole  dream-world 
of  fantastic  imaginations,  and  was  ripe  and  ready  for  any  wild 
deed  which  her  wild  brain  might  suggest. 

Pure  she  was  all  the  while,  genei'ous  and  noble-hearted,  and 
with  a  deep  and  sincere  longing  —  as  one  soul  in  ten  thousand 
has  —  after  knowledge  for  its  own  sake ;  but  ambitious  exceed- 
ingly, and  that  not  of  monastic  sanctity.  She  laughed  to  scorn 
the  notion  of  a  nunnery ;  and  laughed  to  scorn  equally  the  notion 
of  marrying  any  knight,  however  much  of  a  prudhomme,  whom 


100      BEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OP  THE  ENGLISH. 

she  had  yet  seen.  Her  uncle  and  Marquis  Baldwin  could  have 
between  them  compelled  her,  as  an  orphan  heiress,  to  marry 
whom  they  liked.  But  Torfrida  had  as  yet  bullied  the  Abbot 
and  coaxed  the  Count  successfully.  Lanes  had  been  splintered, 
helmits  split,  and  more  than  one  life  lost  in  her  honor ;  but  she 
had  only,  as  the  be^t  safeguard  she  could  devise,  given  some  hint 
of  encouragement  to  one  Ascelin,  a  tall  knight  of  St.  Valeri,  the 
most  renowned  bully  of  those  parts,  by  bestowing  on  him  a  scrap 
of  ribbon,  and  bidding  him  keep  it  against  all  comers.  By  this 
means  she  insured  the  personal  chastisement  of  all  other  youths 
who  dared  to  lift  their  eyes  to  her,  while  she  by  no  means  bound 
herself  to  her  spadassin  of  St.  Valeri.  It  was  all  very  brutal, 
but  so  was  the  time ;  and  what  better  could  a  poor  lady  do  in 
days  when  no  man's  life  or  woman's  honor  was  safe,  unless  —  as 
too  many  were  forced  to  do  —  she  retired  into  a  cloister,  and  got 
from  the  Church  that  peace  which  this  world  certainly  could  not 
give,  and,  happily,  dared  not  take  away  ? 

The  arrival  of  Hereward  and  his  men  had  of  course  stiiTed 
the  great  current  of  her  life,  and  indeed  that  of  St.  Omer,  usu- 
ally as  stagnant  as  that  of  the  dikes  round  its  wall.  Who  the 
unknown  champion  was,  —  for  his  name  of  "  Naemansson"  showed 
that  he  was  concealing  something  at  least,  —  whence  he  had  come, 
and  what  had  been  his  previous  exploits,  busied  all  the  gossips  of 
the  town.  Would  he  and  his  men  rise  and  plunder  the  abbey? 
Was  not  the  Chatelain  mad  in  leaving  young  Arnnlf  with  him 
all  day?  Madder  still,  in  taking  him  out  to  battle  against  the 
Count  of  Guisnes  ?  He  might  be  a  spy,  —  the  avant-courrier  of 
some  great  invading  force.  He  was  come  to  spy  out  the  naked- 
ness of  the  land,  and  would  shortly  vanish,  to  return  with  Harold 
Hardraade  of  Norway,  or  Sweyn  of  Denmark,  and  all  their 
hosts.  Nay,  was  he  not  Harold  Hardraade  himself  in  disguise  ? 
And  so  forth.  All  which  Torfrida  heard,  and  thought  within 
herself  that,  be  he  who  he  might,  she  should  like  to  look  on  him 
again. 

Then  came  the  news  how  the  very  first  day  that  he  had  gone 
out  against  the  Count  of  Guisnes  he  had  gallantly  rescued  a 
wounded  man.  A  day  or  two  after  came  fresh  news  of  some 
doughty  deed ;  and  then  another,  and  another.  And  when  Here- 
ward returned,  after  a  week's  victorious  fighting,  all  St.  Omer 
was  in  the  street  to  stare  at  him. 

Then  Torfrida  heard  enough,  and,  had  it  been  possible,  more 
than  enough,  of  Hereward  and  his  prowess. 

And  when  tliey  came  riding  in,  the  great  Marquis  at  the  head 
of  them  all,  with  Robert  le  Frison  on  one  side  of  him,  and  on 
the  other  Hereward,  looking  "  as  fresh  as  flowers  in  May,"  she 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       101 

looked  down  on  him  out  of  her  little  lattice  in  the  gable,  and 
loved  him,  once  and  for  all,  with  all  her  heart  and  soul. 

And  Hereward  looked  up  at  her  and  her  dark  blue  eyes  and 
dark  raven  locks,  and  thought  her  the  fairest  thing  that  he  had 
ever  seen,  and  asked  who  she  might  be,  and  heard ;  and  as  he 
heard  he  forgot  all  about  the  Sultan's  daughter,  and  the  Princess 
of  Constantinople,  and  the  Fairy  of  Brocheliaunde,  and  all  the 
other  pretty  birds  which  were  still  in  the  bush  about  the  wide 
world  ;  and  thought  for  many  a  day  of  naught  but  the  pretty  bird 
which  he  held  —  so  conceited  was  he  of  his  own  powers  of  win- 
ning her  —  there  safe  iti  hand  in  St.  Omer. 

So  he  cast  about  to  see  her,  and  to  win  her  love.  And  she 
cast  about  to  see  him,  and  win  his  love.  But  neither  saw  the 
other  for  a  while ;  and  it  might  have  been  better  for  one  of  them 
had  they  never  seen  the  other  again. 

If  Toi-frida  could  have  foreseen,  and  foreseen,  and  foreseen  — ■ 
why,  if  she  were  true  woman,  she  would  have  done  exactly  what 
she  did,  and  taken  the  bitter  with  the  sweet,  the  unknown  with 
the  known,  as  we  all  must  do  in  life,  unless  we  wish  to  live  and 
die  alone. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

HOW  HLREWARD  WENT  TO  THE  WAR  IN  SCALDMARILAND. 

It  has  been  shown  how  the  Count  of  Guisnes  had  been  a 
thorn  in  the  side  of  Baldwin  of  Lille,  and  how  that  thorn  was 
drawn  out  by  Hereward.  But  a  far  sharper  thorn  in  his  side, 
and  one  which  had  troubled  many  a  Count  before,  and  was  des- 
tined to  trouble  others  afterward,  was  those  unruly  Hollanders, 
or  Frisians,  who  dwelt  in  Scaldmariland,  "  the  land  of  the  meres 
of  the  Scheldt."  Beyond  the  vast  forests  of  Flanders,  in  mo- 
rasses and  alluvial  islands  whose  names  it  is  impossible  now  to 
verify,  so  much  has  the  land  changed,  both  by  inundations  and 
by  embankments,  by  the  brute  forces  of  nature  and  the  noWe  tri- 
umphs of  art,  dwelt  a  folk,  poor,  savage,  living  mostly,  as  in 
Caesar's  time,  in  huts  raised  above  the  sea  on  piles  or  mounds  of 
earth ;  often  without  cattle  or  seedfield,  half  savage,  half  heathen, 
but  free.  Free,  with  the  divine  instinct  of  freedom,  and  all  the 
self-help  and  energy  which  spring  thereout. 

Tliey  were  a  mongrel  race ;  and,  as  most  mongrel  races  are 
(when  sprung  from  parents  not  too  far  apart  in  blood),  a  strong 
race  ;  the  remnant  of  those  old  Frisians  and  Batavians,  who  had 
defied,  and  all  but  successfully  resisted,  the  power  of  Rome ; 
mingled  with  fresh  crosses  of  Teutonic  blood  from  Frank,  Sueve, 
Saxon,  and  the  other  German  tribes,  who,  after  the  fall  of  the 
Roman  Empire,  had  swept  across  the  land. 

Their  able  modern  historian  has  well  likened  the  struggle  be- 
tween Civilis  and  the  Romans  to  that  between  William  the  Silent 
and  the  S2)aniard.  It  was,  without  doubt,  the  foreshadow  of 
their  whole  history.  They  were  distinguished,  above  most  Euro- 
pean races,  for  sturdy  independence,  and,  what  generally  accom- 
panies it,  sturdy  common  sense.  They  could  not  understand  why 
they  should  obey  foreign  Frank  rulers,  whether  set  over  them  by 
Dagobert  or  by  Charlemagne.  They  could  not  understand  why 
they  were  to  pay  tithes  to  foreign  Frank  priests,  who  had  forced 
on  them,  at  the  sword's  point,  a  religion  whicli  they  only  half 
believed,  and  only  half  understood.  Many  a  truly  holy  man 
preached  to  them  to  the  best  of  his  powers  :  but  the  cross  of 
St.  Boniface    had    too    often   to    follow  the    sword   of   Charles 


HEREWAED,  THE   LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH.  103 

Martel ;  and  for  every  Frisian  who  was  converted  another  was 
killed. 

"  Free  Frisians,"  nevertheless,  they  remained,  at  least  in  name 
and  in  their  statute-book,  "  as  long  as  the  wind  blows  out  of  the 
clouds,  and  the  world  stands."  The  feudal  system  never  took 
root  in  their  soil*  If  a  Frank  Count  was  to  govern  them,  he 
must  govern  according  to  their  own  laws.  Again  and  again  they 
rebelled,  even  against  that  seemingly  light  rule.  Again  and  again 
they  brought  down  on  themselves  the  wrath  of  their  nominal  sov- 
ereigns the  Counts  of  Flanders  ;  then  of  the  Kaisers  of  Ger- 
many ;  and,  in  the  thirteenth  century,  of  the  Inquisition  itself. 
Then  a  crusade  was  preached  against  them  as  "  Stadings,"  here- 
tics who  paid  no  tithes,  ill-used  monks  and  nuns,  and  worshipped 
(or  were  said  to  worship)  a  black  cat  and  the  foul  fiend  among 
the  meres  and  fens.  Conrad  of  Marpurg,  the  brutal  Director  of 
St.  Elizabeth  of  Hungary,  burnt  them  at  his  wicked  will,  extir- 
pating it  may  be  heresy,  but  not  the  spirit  of  the  race.  That, 
crushed  down  and  seemingly  enslaved,  dui-ing  the  middle  age, 
under  Count  Dirk  and  his  descendants,  still  lived  ;  destined  at 
last  to  conquer.  They  were  a  people  who  had  determined  to  see 
for  themselves  and  act  for  themselves  in  the  universe  in  which 
they  found  themselves  ;  and,  moreover  (a  necessary  corollary  of 
such  a  resolution),  to  fight  to  the  death  against  any  one  who  in- 
terfered with  them  in  so  doing. 

Again  and  again,  therefore,  the  indomitable  spirit  rose,  found- 
ing free  towns  with  charters  and  guilds  ;  embanking  the  streams, 
draining  the  meres,  fighting  each  other  and  the  neighboi*ing 
princes ;  till,  in  their  last  great  struggle  against  the  Pope  and 
Spain,  they  rose  once  and  for  all, 

"  Heated  hot  with  burning  fears, 
And  bathed  in  baths  of  hissing  tears, 
And  battered  with  the  strokes  of  doom 
To  shape  and  use," 

as  the  great  Protestant  Dutch  Republic. 

A  noble  errand  it  had  been  for  such  a  man  as  Hereward  to 
help  those  men  toward  freedom,  instead  of  helping  Frank  Counts 
to  enslave  them  ;  —  men  of  his  own  blood,  with  laws  and  cus- 
toms like  those  of  his  own  Anglo-Danes,  living  in  a  land  so  ex- 
actly like  his  own  that  every  mere  and  fen  and  wood  reminded 
him  of  the  scenes  of  his  boyhood.  The  very  names  of  the  two 
lands  were  alike,  —  "  Holland,"  the  hollow  land,  —  the  one  of 
England,  the  other  of  Flanders. 

Biit  all  this  was  hidden  from  Hereward.  To  do  as  he  would 
be  done  by  was  a  lesson  which  he  had  never  been  taught.     If 

*  jy^otley.    "  Rise  of  the  Dutch  Republic."  . 


104       HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

men  had  invaded  his  land,  he  wonld  have  cried,  like  the  Frisians 
whom  he  was  going  to  enslave,  "  I  am  free  as  long  as  the  wind 
blows  out  of  the  clouds ! "  and  died  where  he  stood.  But  that 
was  not  the  least  reason  why  he  should  not  invade  any  other 
man's  land,  and  try  whether  or  not  he,  too,  would  die  where  he 
stood.  To  him  these  Frieslanders  were  simply  savages,  probably 
heathens,  who  would  not  obey  their  lawful  lord,  who  was  a 
gentleman  and  a  Christian ;  besides,  renown,  and  possibly  a  little 
plunder,  might  be  got  by  beating  them  into  obedience.  He  knew 
not  what  he  did  ;  and  knew  not,  likewise,  that  as  he  had  done  to 
others,  so  would  it  be  done  to  him. 

Baldwin  had  at  that  time  made  over  his  troublesome  Holland- 
ers to  his  younger  son  Robert,  the  Viking  whom  little  Arnulf 
longed  to  imitate. 

Florent,  Count  of  Holland,  and  vassal  of  the  great  Marquis, 
had  just  died,  leaving  a  pretty  young  widow,  to  whom  the  Hol- 
landers had  no  mind  to  pay  one  stiver  more  than  they  were  forced. 
All  the  isles  of  Zeeland,  and  the  counties  of  Eenham  and  Alost, 
were  doing  that  which  was  right  in  the  sight  of  their  own  eyes, 
and  finding  themselves  Tione  the  worse  therefor,  —  though  the 
Countess  Gertrude  doubtless  could  buy  fewer  silks  of  Greece  or 
gems  of  Italy.  But  to  such  a  distressed  lady  a  champion  could 
not  long  be  wanting ;  and  Robert,  after  having  been  driven  out 
of  Spain  by  the  Moors  with  fearful  loss,  and  in  a  second  attempt 
wrecked  with  all  his  fleet  as  soon  as  he  got  out  of  port,  resolved 
to  tempt  the  main  no  more,  and  leave  the  swan's  path  for  that  of 
the  fat  oxen  and  black  dray-horses  of  Holland. 

So  he  rushed  to  avenge  the  wrongs  of  the  Countess  Gertrude ; 
and  his  father,  whose  good-natured  good  sense  foresaw  that  the 
fiery  Robert  would  raise  storms  upon  Jiis  path,  —  happily  for  his 
old  age  he  did  not  foresee  the  worst,  —  let  him  go,  with  his 
blessing. 

So  Robert  gathered  to  him  valiant  ruffians,  as  many  as  he 
could  find  ;  and  when  he  heard  of  the  Viking  who  had  brought 
Eustace  of  Guisnes  to  reason,  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  a 
man  who  would  do  his  work. 

So  when  the  great  Marquis  came  down  to  St.  Omer  to  receive 
the  homage  of  Count  Eustace  of  Guisnes,  Robert  came  thither 
too,  and  saw  Hereward. 

"  You  have  done  us  good  service,  Harold  Naemansson,  as  it 
pleases  you  to  be  called,"  said  Baldwin,  smiling.  "  But  some 
man's  son  you  are,  if  ever  I  saw  a  gallant  knight  earl-born  by 
his  looks  as  well  as  his  deeds." 

Hereward  bowed. 

"  And  for  me,"  said  Robert,  ''  Naemansson  or  earl's  son,  heie 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       105 

is  my  Viking's  welcome  to  all  Vikings  like  myself."    And  he  held 
out  his  hand. 

Hereward  took  it. 

"  You  failed  in  Galicia,  beausire,  only  because  your  foes  were 
a  hundred  to  one.  You  will  not  fail  where  you  are  going,  if  (as 
I  hear)  they  are  but  ten  to  one." 

Robert  laughed,  vain  and  gratified. 

"Tlien  you  know  where  I  have  been,  and  where  I  am  going?" 

"  Why  not  ?  As  you  know  well,  we  Vikings  are  all  brothers, 
and  all  know  each  othei-'s  counsel,  from  ship  to  ship  and  port  to 
port." 

Then  the  two  young  men  looked  each  other  in  the  face,  and 
each  saw  that  the  other  was  a  man  who  would  suit  him. 

"  Skall  to  the  Viking!"  cried  Robert,  aping,  as  was  his  fancy, 
the  Norse  rovers'  slang.    "Will  you  come  with  me  to  Holland  ?" 

"  You  must  ask  my  young  lord  there,"  and  he  pointed  to  Arnulf. 
"I  am  his  man  now,  by  all  laws  of  honor." 

A  flush  of  jealousy  passed  over  Robert's  face.  He,  haplessly 
for  himself,  thought  that  he  had  a  grievance. 

The  rights  of  primogeniture  —  droits  cTauiesse  —  were  not 
respected  in  the  family  of  the  Baldwins  as  they  should  have 
been,  had  prudence  and  common  sense  had  their  way. 

No  sacred  or  divine  right  is  conferred  by  the  fact  of  a  man's 
being  the  first-born  son.  If  Scripture  be  Scripture,  the  "  Loi'd's 
anointed  "  was  usually  rather  a  younger  son  of  talent  and  virtue ; 
one  born,  not  according  to  the  flesh,  but  according  to  the  spirit, 
like  David  and  Solomon.  And  so  it  was  in  other  realms  be- 
sides Flanders  during  the  middle  age.  The  father  handed  on 
the  work  —  for  ruling  was  hard  work  in  those  days  —  to  the  son 
most  able  to  do  it.  Therefore  we  can  believe  Lambert  of  As- 
chaffenbourg  when  he  says,  that  in  Count  Baldwin's  family  for 
many  ages  he  who  pleased  his  father  most  took  his  father's  name, 
and  was  hereditary  prince  of  all  Flanders  ;  while  the, other  broth- 
ers led  an  inglorious  life  of  vassalage  to  him. 

But  we  can  conceive,  likewise,  that  such  a  method  would  give 
rise  to  intrigues,  envyings,  calumnies,  murders,  fratracidal  civil 
wars,  and  all  the  train  of  miseries  which  for  some  years  after  this 
history  made  infamous  the  house  of  Baldwin,  as  they  did  many 
another  noble  house,  till  they  were  stopped  by  the  gradual  adop- 
tion of  the  rational  rule  of  primogeniture. 

So  Robert,  who  might  have  been  a  daring  and  useful  friend  to 
his  brother,  had  he  been  forced  to  take  for  granted  from  birth 
that  he  was  nobody,  and  his  brother  everybody,  —  as  do  all 
younger  sons  of  English  noblemen,  to  their  infinite  benefit, — 
held  himself  to  be  an  injured  man  for  life,  because  his  father 
5* 


106  EEKEWARD,   THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

called  his  first-born  Baldwin,  and  promised  him  the  succession,  — 
which  indeed  he  had  worthily  deserved,  according  to  the  laws  of 
Mammon  and  this  world,  by  bringing  into  the  family  such  an 
heiress  as  Richilda  and  such  a  dowry  as  Mons. 

But  Robert,  who  thought  himself  as  good  as  his  brother, — 
though  he  was  not  such,  save  in  valor,  —  nursed  black  envy  in 
bis  heart.  Hard  it  was  to  him  to  hear  his  elder  brother  called 
Baldwin  of  Mons,  when  he  himself  had  not  a  foot  of  land  of  his 
own.  Harder  still  to  hear  him  called  Baldwin  the  Good,  when 
he  felt  in  himself  no  title  whatsoever  to  that  epithet.  Hardest 
of  all  to  see  a  beautiful  boy  grow  up,  as  heir  both  of  Flanders 
and  of  Hainault. 

Had  he  foreseen  whither  that  envy  would  have  led  him ;  had 
he  foreseen  the  hideous  and  fratracidal  day  of  February  22d,  1071, 
and  that  fair  boy's  golden  locks  rolling  in  dust  and  blood,  —  the 
wild  Viking  would  have  crushed  the  growing  snake  within  his 
bosom  ;  for  he  was  a  knight  and  a  gentleman.  But  it  was  hidden 
from  his  eyes.  He  had  to  "  dree  his  weird,"  —  to  commit  great 
sins,  do  great  deeds,  and  die  in  hi>  bed.  mighty  and  honored,  hav- 
ing children  to  his  heart's  drsire,  and  leaving  the  rest  of  his  sub- 
stance to  his  babes.     Heaven  help  him,  and  the  like  of  him ! 

But  he  turned  to  young  Arnulf. 

"  Give  me  your  man,  boy  !  " 

Arnulf  pouted.  He  wanted  to  keep  his  Viking  for  himself, 
and  said  so. 

"  He  is  to  teach  me  to  go  'leding,'  as  the  Norsemen  call  it, 
like  you." 

Robert  laughed.  A  hint  at  his  piratical  attempts  pleased  his 
vanity,  all  the  more  because  they  had  been  signal  failures. 

"  Lend  him  me,  then,  my  pretty  nephew,  for  a  month  or  two, 
till  he  has  conquered  these  Friesland  frogs  for  me ;  and  then,  if 
thou  wilt  go  ledinof  with  him  —  " 

"  I  hope.you  may  never  come  back,"  thought  Robert  to  him- 
self; but  he  did  not  say  it. 

"  Let  the  knight  go,"  quoth  Baldwin. 

"  Let  me  go  with  him,  then." 

"  No,  by  all  saints  !  I  cannot  have  thee  poked  through  with  a 
Friesland  pike,  or  rotted  with  a  Friesland  ague." 

Arnulf  pouted  still. 

"  Abbot,  what  hast  thou  been  at  with  the  boy  ?  He  thinks  of 
naught  but  blood  and  wounds,  instead  of  books  and  prayers." 

"  He  is  gone  mad  after  this  —  this  knight." 

"  The  Abbot,"  said  Hereward, ''  knows  by  hearing  of  his  ears, 
that  I  bid  him  bide  at  home,  and  try  to  govern  lands  in  peace, 
like  his  father  and  you,  Sir  Marquis." 

"  Eh  ?  " 


HEREWAED,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       107 

The  Abbot  told  honestly  what  had  passed  between  Hereward 
and  the  lad,  as  they  rode  to  St.  Bertin. 

Baldwin  was  silent,  thinking,  and  smiling  jollily,  as  was  the 
wont  of  the  Debonair. 

"  You  are  a  man  of  sense,  beausire.  Come  with  me,"  said  he 
at  last. 

And  he,  Hereward,  and  Robert  went  into  an  inner  room. 

"  Sit  down  on  the  settle  by  me." 

"  It  is  too  great  an  honor." 

"  Nonsense,  man !  If  I  be  who  I  am,  I  know  enough  of  men 
to  know  that  I  need  not  be  ashamed  of  having  you  as  bench- 
fellow.     Sit  down." 

Hereward  obeyed  of  course. 

"  Tell  me  who  you  are." 

Hereward  looked  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eyes,  smiling  and 
perplexed. 

"  Tell  me  and  Robert  who  you  are,  man ;  and  be  done  with 
it.  I  believe  I  know  already.  I  have  asked  far  and  wide  of 
chapmen,  and  merchants,  and  wandering  knights,  and  pirate 
rascals,  —  like  yourself." 

"  And  you  found  that  I  was  a  pirate  rascal  ?  " 

"  I  found  a  pirate  rascal  who  met  you  in  Ireland,  three  years 
since,  and  will  swear  that  if  you  have  one  gray  eye  and  one 
blue  —  " 

"  As  he  has,"  quoth  Robert. 

"  That  I  am  a  wolfs  head,  and  a  robber  of  priests,  and  an  Esau 
on  the  face  of  the  earth ;  every  man's  hand  against  me,  and  mine 
—  for  I  never  take  but  what  I  give  —  against  every  man." 

•'  That  you  are  the  son  of  my  old  friend  Leofric  of  Chester  ; 
and  the  hottest-hearted,  shrewdest-headed,  hardest-handed  Ber- 
serker in  the  North  Seas.  You  killed  Gilbert  of  Ghent's  bear, 
Siward  Digre's  cousin.     Don't  deny  it." 

"  Don't  hang  me,  or  send  me  to  the  Westminster  miracle-woi"k- 
er  to  be  hanged,  and  I  will  confess." 

"  I  ?  Every  man  is  welcome  who  comes  hither  with  a  bold 
hand  and  a  strong  heart.  '  The  Refuge  for  the  Destitute,'  they 
call  Flanders ;  I  suppose  because  I  am  too  good-natured  to  turn 
rogues  out.  So  do  no  harm  to  mine,  and  mine  shall  do  no  harm 
lo  you." 

Baldwin's  words  were  true.  lie  found  house-room  for  every- 
body, helped  everybody  against  everybody  else  (as  will  be  seen), 
and  yet  quarrelled  with  nobody  —  at  least  in  his  old  age  —  by 
the  mere  virtue  of  good  nature, —  which  blessed  is  the  man  who 
possesseth. 

So  Hereward  went  off  to  exterminate  the  wicked  Hollanders, 
and  aven;5e  the  wrongs  of  the  Countess  Gertrude. 


CHAPTER    X. 

HOW  HEEEWARD  WON  THE  MAGIC  ARMOR. 

ToRFEiDA  had  special  opportunities  of  hearing  about  Here- 
ward  ;  for  young  Arnulf  was  to  her  a  pet  and  almost  a  foster- 
brother,  and  gladly  escaped  from  the  convent  to  tell  her  the  news. 

He  had  now  had  his  first  taste  of  the  royal  game  of  war.  He 
had  seen  Hereward  fight  by  day,  and  heard  him  tell  stories  over 
the  camp-fire  by  night.  Hereward's  beauty,  Hereward's  prowess, 
Hereward's  songs,  Hereward's  strange  adventures  and  wander- 
ings, were  forever  in  the  young  boy's  mouth  ;  and  he  spent  hours 
in  helping  Torfrida  to  guess  who  the  great  unknown  might  be ; 
and  then  went  back  to  Hereward,  and  artlessly  told  him  of  his 
beautiful  friend,  and  how  they  had  talked  of  him,  and  of  nothing 
else  ;  and  in  a  week  or  two  Hereward  knew  all  about  Torfrida ; 
and  Torfrida  knew  —  what  filled  her  heart  with  joy  —  that  Here- 
ward was  bound  to  no  lady-love,  and  owned  (so  he  had  told  Ar- 
nulf) no  mistress  save  the  sword  on  his  thigh. 

Whereby  there  had  grown  up  in  the  hearts  of  both  the  man  and 
the  maid  a  curiosity,  which  easily  became  the  parent  of  love. 

But  when  Baldwin  the  great  Marquis  came  to  St.  Omer,  to 
receive  the  homage  of  Eustace  of  Guisnes,  young  Arnulf  had  run 
into  Torfrida's  chamber  in  great  anxiety.  "  Would  his  grand- 
father approve  of  what  he  had  done  ?  Would  he  allow  his  new 
friendship  with  the  unknown  ?  " 

"  What  care  I  ?  "  said  Torfrida.  "  But  if  your  friend  wishes 
to  have  the  Marquis's  favor,  he  would  be  wise  to  trust  him,  at 
least  so  far  as  to  tell  his  name." 

"  I  have  told  him  so.  I  have  told  him  that  you  would  tell 
him  so." 

"  I  ?    Have  you  been  talking  to  him  about  me  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  That  is  not  well  done,  Arnulf,  to  talk  of  ladies  to  men  whom 
they  do  not  know." 

Arnulf  looked  up,  puzzled  and  pained  ;  for  she  spoke  haugh- 
tily. 

"  I  know  naught  of  your  new  friend.  He  may  be  a  low-born 
man,  for  anything  that  1  can  tell." 


HEREWAED,   THE   LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH.  109 

"  He  is  not !  He  is  as  noble  as  I  am.  Everything  he  says 
and  does  —  every  look  —  shows  it." 

"  You  are  young,  —  as  you  have  shown  by  talking  of  me  to 
him.  But  I  have  given  you  my  advice  "  ;  and  she  moved  lan- 
guidly away.  "  Let  him  tell  your  grandfather  who  he  is,  or 
remain  suspected." 

The  boy  went  away  sadly. 

Early  the  next  morning  he  burst  into  Torfrida's  room  as  she 
was  dressing  her  hair. 

"  How  now  ?    Are  these  manners  for  the  heir  of  Flanders  ?  " 

"  He  has  told  all !  " 

"  He  has ! "  and  she  started  and  dropt  her  comb. 

"  Pick  up  that  comb,  girl.  You  need  not  go  away.  I  have 
no  secrets  with  young  gentlemen." 

"  I  thought  you  would  be  glad  to  hear." 

"  I  ?  What  can  I  want  in  the  matter,  save  that  your  grand- 
father should  be  satisfied  that  you  are  entertaining  a  man  worthy 
to  be  your  guest  ?  " 

"  And  he  is  worthy :  he  has  told  my  grandfather  who  he  is." 

"  But  not  you  ?  " 

"  No.  They  say  I  must  not  know  yet.  But  this  I  know,  that 
they  welcomed  him,  when  he  told  them,  as  if  he  had  been  an 
earl's  son ;  and  that  he  is  going  with  my  Uncle  Robert  against 
the  Frieslanders." 

"  And  if  he  be  an  earl's  son,  how  comes  he  here,  wandering 
with  rough  seamen,  and  hiding  his  honest  name  ?  He  must  have 
done  something  of  which  he  is  ashamed." 

"  I  shall  tell  you  nothing,"  said  Arnulf,  pouting. 

"  What  care  I  ?    I  can  find  out  by  art  magic  if  I  like." 

"  I  don't  believe  all  that.  Can  you  find  out,  for  instance,  what 
he  has  on  his  throat  ?  " 

"  A  beard." 

"  But  what  is  under  that  beard  ?  " 

"  A  goitre." 

"  You  are  laughing  at  me." 

"  Of  course  I  am,  as  I  shall  at  any  one  who  challenges  me  to 
find  out  anything  so  silly,  and  so  unfit." 

"  I  shall  go." 

"  Go  then."  For  she  knew  very  well  that  he  would  come 
back  again. 

"  Nurse,"  said  Torfrida  to  the  old  Lapp  woman,  when  they 
were  alone,  "  find  out  for  me  what  is  the  name  of  this  strange 
champion,  and  what  he  has  beneath  his  beard." 

"  Beneath  his  beard  ?  " 

"  Some  scar,  I  suppose,  or  secret  mark.  I  must  know.  You 
will  find  out  for  your  Torfrida,  will  you  not,  nurse  ?  " 


110  HEREWARD,   THE   LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

"  I  will  make  a  charm  that  will  bring  him  to  you,  were  all  the 
icebergs  of  Qiienland  between  you  and  him  :  and  then  you  can 
see  for  yourself." 

"  No,  no,  no  !  not  yet,  nurse !  "  and  Torfrida  smiled.  "  Only 
find  me  out  that  one  thing  :  that  I  must  know." 

And  yet  why  she  wanted  to  know,  she  could  not  tell  herself. 

The  old  woman  came  back  to  her,  ere  she  went  to  bed. 

"  I  have  found  it  out  all,  and  more.  I  know  where  to  get 
scarlet  toadstools,  and  I  put  the  juice  in  his  men's  ale  :  they  are 
laughing  and  roaring  now,  merry-mad  every  one  of  them." 

'*  But  not  he  ?  " 

"  No,  no.  He  is  with  the  Marquis.  But  in  madness  comes 
out  truth  ;  and  that  long  hook-nosed  body-varlet  of  his  has  told 
us  all." 

And  she  told  Torfrida  who  Hereward  was,  and  the  secret 
mark. 

"  There  is  a  Cross  upon  his  throat,  beneath  his  chin,  pricked 
in  after  their  English  fashion." 

Torfrida  started. 

"Then,  —  then  the  spell  will  not  work  upon  him;  the  Holy 
Cross  will  turn  it  off." 

"  It  must  be  a  great  Cross  and  a  holy  one  that  will  turn  off  my 
charms,"  said  the  old  hag,  with  a  sneer,  "  whatever  it  may  do 
against  yours.  But  on  the  back  of  his  hand,  —  that  will  be  a 
mark  to  know  him  by,  —  there  is  pricked  a  bear,  —  a  white  bear 
that  he  slew."  And  she  told  the  story  of  the  fairy  bear ;  which 
Torfrida  duly  stored  up  in  her  heart. 

"  So  he  has  the  Cross  on  his  throat,"  thought  Torfrida  to  her- 
self. "  Well,  if  it  keep  off  my  charm,  it  will  keep  off  others,  that 
is  one  comfort ;  and  one  knows  not  what  fairies  or  witches  or  evil 
creatures  he  may  meet  with  in  the  forests  and  the  fens." 

The  discovery  of  Hereward's  rank  did  not,  doubtless,  lessen 
Torfrida's  fancy  for  him.  She  was  ambitious  enough,  and  proud 
enough  of  her  own  lineage,  to  be  full  glad  that  her  heart  had 
strayed  away  —  as  it  must  needs  stray  somewhere  —  to  the  son 
of  the  third  greatest  man  in  England.  As  for  his  being  an  out- 
law, that  mattered  little.  He  might  be  inlawed,  and  rich  and 
powerful,  any  day  in  those  uncertain,  topsy-turvy  times :  and, 
for  the  present,  his  being  a  wolf's  head  only  made  him  the  more 
interesting  to  her.  Women  like  to  pity  their  lovers.  Sometimes 
—  may  all  good  beings  reward  them  for  it  —  they  love  merely 
because  they  pity.  And  Torfrida  found  it  pleasant  to  pity  the 
insolent  young  coxcomb,  who  certainly  never  dreamed  of  pitying 
biraself. 

When  Hereward  went  home  that  night,  he  found  the  Abbey 


HEREWAED,   THE  LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH.  Ill 

of  St.  Bertin  in  horrible  confusion.  His  men  were  grouped 
outside  the  gate,  chattering  like  monkeys ;  the  porter  and  the 
monks,  from  inside,  entreating  them,  vainly,  to  come  in  and  go  to 
bed  quietly. 

But  they  would  not.  They  vowed  and  swore  that  a  great  gulf 
had  opened  all  down  the  road,  and  that  one  step  more  would 
tumble  them  in  headlong.  They  manifested  the  most  affectionate 
solicitude  for  the  monks,  warning  them,  on  their  lives,  not  to  step 
across  the  threshold,  or  they  would  be  swallowed  (as  Martin, 
who  was  the  maddest  of  the  lot,  phrased  it)  with  Korah,  Dathan, 
and  Abiram.  In  vain  Hereward  stormed ;  assured  them  that 
the  supposed  abyss  was  nothing  but  the  gutter;  proved  the  fact 
by  kicking  Martin  over  it.  The  men  determined  to  believe  their 
own  eyes,  and  after  a  while  fell  asleep,  in  heaps,  in  the  roadside, 
and  lay  there  till  morning,  when  they  woke,  declaring,  as  did  the 
monks,  that  they  had  been  all  bewitched.  They  knew  not  —  and 
happily  the  lower  orders,  both  in  England  and  on  the  Continent, 
do  not  yet  know  —  the  potent  virtues  of  that  strange  fungus,  with 
which  Lapps  and  Samoiedes  have,  it  is  said,  practised  wonders 
for  centuries  past. 

The  worst  of  the  matter  was,  that  Martin  Lightfoot,  who  had 
drank  most  of  the  poison,  and  had  always  been  dreamy  and  un- 
canny, in  spite  of  his  shrewdness  and  humor,  had,  from  that  day 
forward,  something  very  like  a  bee  in  his  bonnet. 

But  before  Count  Robert  and  Hereward  could  collect  sufficient 
troops  for  the  invasion  of  Holland,  another  chance  of  being  slain 
in  fight  arose,  too  tempting  to  be  overlooked ;  namely,  the  annual 
tournament  at  Pont  de  I'Arche  above  Rouen,  where  all  the  no- 
blest knights  of  Normandy  would  assemble,  to  win  their  honor 
and  ladies'  love  by  hewing  at  each  other's  sinful  bodies.  Thither, 
too,  the  best  knights  of  Flanders  must  needs  go,  and  with  them 
Hereward.  Though  no  knight,  he  was  allowed  in  Flanders,  as 
he  had  been  in  Scotland,  to  take  his  place  among  that  honorable 
company.  For,  though  he  still  refused  the  honor  of  knighthood, 
on  the  ground  that  he  had,  as  yet,  done  no  deed  deserving  there- 
of, he  was  held  to  have  deserved  it  again  and  again,  and  all  the 
more  from  his  modesty  in  declining  it. 

So  away  they  all  went  to  Pont  de  I'Arche,  a  right  gallant 
meinie:  and  Torfrida  watched  them  go  from  the  lattice  window. 

And  when  they  had  passed  down  the  street,  tramping  and  jin- 
gl.ng  and  caracoling,  young  Arnulf  ran  into  the  house  witli  e}e3 
full  of  tears,  because  he  was  not  allowed  to  go  likewise ;  and  with 
a  message  for  Torfrida,  from  no  other  than  Hereward. 

"  I  was  to  tell  you  this  and  no  more :  that  if  he  meets  your 
favor  in  the  field,  he  that  wears  it  wiU  have  hard  work  to  keeo  it." 


112       HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

Torfrida  turned  pale  as  ashes  ;  first  with  wHd  delight,  and 
then  with  wild  fear. 

"  Ha  ?  —  does  he  know  who  —  Sir  Ascelin  ?  " 

"  He  knows  well  enough.  "Why  not  ?  Every  one  knows.  Are 
you  afraid  that  he  is  not  a  match  for  that  great  bullock  ?  " 

"  Afraid  ?  Who  said  I  was  afraid  ?  Sir  Ascelin  is  no  bullock 
either  ;  but  a  courteous  and  gallant  knight." 

"  You  are  as  pale  as  death,  and  so  —  " 

"  Never  mind  what  I  am,"  said  she,  putting  her  hands  over 
his  eyes,  and  kissing  him  again  and  again,  as  a  vent  for  her 

joy- 

The  next  few  days  seemed  years  for  length :  but  she  could 
wait.  She  was  sure  of  him  now.  She  needed  no  charms. 
"  Perhaps,"  thought  she,  as  she  looked  in  the  glass,  "  I  was  my 
own  charm."     And,  indeed,  she  had  every  fair  right  to  say  so. 

At  last  news  came. 

She  was  sitting  over  her  books ;  her  mother,  as  usual,  was 
praying  in  the  cliurclies;  when  the  old  Lapp  nurse  came  in.  A 
knight  was  at  the  door.  His  name,  he  said,  was  Siward  the 
White,  and  he  came  from  Hereward. 

From  Hereward  !  He  was  at  least  alive :  he  might  be  wounded, 
though ;  and  she  rushed  out  of  the  chamber  into  the  hall,  looking 
never  more  beautiful ;  her  color  heightened  by  the  quick  beating 
of  her  heart ;  her  dark  hair,  worn  loose  and  long,  after  the  fashion 
of  those  days,  streaming  around  her  and  behind  her. 

A  handsome  young  man  stood  in  the  door-way,  armed  from 
head  to  foot. 

"  You  are  Siward,  Hereward's  nephew  ?  " 

He  bowed  assent.  She  took  him  by  the  hands,  and,  after  the 
fashion  of  those  days,  kis.-ed  him  on  the  small  space  on  either 
cheek,  which  was  left  bare  between  the  nose-piece  and  the  chain- 
mail. 

"  You  are  welcome.     Hereward  is  —  is  alive  ?  " 

"  Alive  and  gay,  and  all  the  more  gay  at  being  able  to  send  to 
the  Lady  Tortrida  by  me  something  which  was  once  hers,  and 
now  is  hers  once  more." 

And  he  drew  from  his  bosom  the  ribbon  of  the  knight  of  St. 
Valeri. 

.  She  almost  snatched  it  from  his  hand,  in  her  delight  at  recov- 
ering her  favor. 

"  How  —  where  —  did  he  get  this  ?  " 

"  He  saw  it,  in  the  thick  of  the  tournament,  on  the  helm  of  a 
knight  who,  he  knew,  had  vowed  to  maim  him  or  take  his  life; 
and,  wishing  to  give  him  a  chance  of  fulfilling  his  vow,  rode  him 
down,  horse  and  man.     The  knight's  Norman  friends  attacked  ua 


HEREWAED,   THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  113 

in  force ;  and  we  Flemings,  with  Hereward  at  our  head,  beat 
them  off,  and  overthrew  so  many,  that  we  are  almost  all  horsed 
at  the  Norman's  expense.  Three  more  knights,  with  their  horses, 
fell  before  Hereward's  lance."  • 

"  And  what  of  this  favor  ?  " 

"  He  sends  it  to  its  owner.  Let  her  say  what  shall  be  done 
with  it." 

Torfrida  was  on  the  point  of  saying,  "  He  has  won  it ;  let  him 
wear  it  for  my  sake."  But  she  paused.  She  longed  to  see 
Hereward  face  to  face ;  to  speak  to  him,  if  but  one  word.  If 
she  allowed  him  to  wear  the  favor,  she  must  at  least  have  the 
pleasure  of  giving  it  with  her  own  hands.     And  she  paused. 

"  And  he  is  killed  ?  " 

"Who?     Hereward?" 

«  Sir  Ascelin." 

"  Only  bruised ;  but  he  shall  be  killed,  if  you  will." 

«  God  forbid ! " 

"  Then,"  said  Siward,  mistaking  her  meaning,  "  all  I  have  to 
tell  Hereward  is,  it  seems,  that  he  has  wasted  his  blow.  He  will 
return,  therefore,  to  the  Knight  of  St.  Valeri  his  horse,  and,  if 
the  Lady  Torfrida  chooses,  the  favor  which  he  has  taken  by  mis- 
take from  its  rightful  owner."  And  he  set  his  teeth,  and  could 
not  prevent  stamping  on  the  ground,  in  evident  passion.  There 
was  a  tone,  too,  of  deep  disappointment  in  his  voice,  which  made 
Torfrida  look  keenly  at  him.  Why  should  Hereward's  nephew 
feel  so  deeply  about  that  favor?  And  as  she  looked,  —  could 
that  man  be  the  youth  Siward  ?  Young  he  was,  but  surely  thirty 
years  old  at  least.  His  face  could  iiardly  be  seen*  hidden  by 
helmet  and  nose-piece  above,  and  mailed  up  to  the  mouth  below. 
But  his  long  mustache  was  that  of  a  grown  man ;  his  vast 
breadth  of  shoulder,  his  hard  hand,  his  sturdy  limbs,  —  these 
surely  belonged  not  to  the  slim  youth  whom  she  had  seen  from 
her  lattice  riding  at  Hereward's  side.  And,  as  she  looked,  she 
saw  upon  his  hand  the  bear  of  which  her  nurse  had  told  her. 

"  You  are  deceiving  me ! "  and  she  turned  first  deadly  pale, 
and  then  crimson.     "You  —  you  are  Hereward  himself!" 

"I?  Pardon  me,  my  lady.  Ten  minutes  ago  I  should  have 
been  glad  enough  to  have  been  Hereward.  Now,  I  am  thankful 
enough  tliat  I  am  only  Siward ;  and  not  Hereward,  who  wins  for 
himself  contempt  by  overthrowing  a  knight  more  fortunate  than 
he."     And  he  bowed,  and  turned  away  to  go. 

"  Hereward  !  Hereward  !  "  and,  in  her  passion,  she  seized 
him  by  both  his  hands.  "  I  know  you !  I  know  that  device 
upon  your  hand.  At  last !  at  last  my  hero,  —  ray  idol !  How 
I  have  longed  for  this  moment !     How  I  have  toiled  for  it,  and 


114      HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

not  in  vain  !  Good  heavens !  what  am  I  saying  ? "  And  she 
tried,  in  her  turn,  to  escape  from  Hereward's  mailed  arms. 

"  Then  you  do  not  care  for  that  man  ?  " 

"^or  him?  Here!  take  my  favor,  wear  it  before  all  the 
world,  and  guard  it  as  you  only  can ;  and  let  them  all  know  that 
Torfnda  is  your  love." 

And  with  hands  trembling  with  passion,  she  bound  the  ribbon 
round  his  helm. 

"  Yes  !  I  am  Hereward,"  he  almost  shouted  ;  "  the  Berserker, 
the  brain-hewer,  the  land-thief,  the  sea-thief,  the  feeder  of  wolf 
and  raven,  —  Aoi!  Ere  my  beard  was  grown,  I  was  a  match 
for  giant?.  How  much  more  now,  that  I  am  a  man  whom  ladies 
love?  Many  a  champion  has  quailed  before  my  very  glance. 
How  much  more,  now  that  I  wear  Torfrida's  gift?     Aoi !  " 

Torfrida  had  often  heard  that  wild  battle-cry  of  Aoi !  of  which 
the  early  minstrels  were  so  fond,  —  with  which  the  great  poet 
who  wrote  the  '*  Song  of  Roland"  ends  every  paragraph;  which 
has  now  fallen  (displaced  by  our  modern  Hurrah),  to  be  merely 
a  sailor's  call  or  hunter's  cry.  But  she  shuddered  as  she  heard 
it  close  to  her  ears,  and  saw,  from  the  flashing  eye  and  dilated 
nostril,  the  temper  of  the  man  on  wliom  she  had  thrown  herself 
so  utterly.     She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  lips. 

"  Silence  !  silence  for  pity's  sake.  Remember  that  you  are  in 
a  maiden's  house ;  and  think  of  her  good  fame." 

Hereward  collected  himself  instantly,  and  then  holding  her  at 
arm's  length,  gazed  upon  her.  "  I  was  mad  a  moment.  But  is 
it  not  enough  to  make  me  mad  to  look  at  you  ?  " 

'•  Do  not  look  at  me  so,  I  cannot  bear  it,"  said  she,  hanging 
down  her  head.     "  You  forget  that  I  am  a  poor  weak  girl." 

'•  Ah !  we  are  rough  wooers,  we  sea-rovers.  We  cannot  pay 
glozing  French  compliments  like  your  knights  here,  who  fawn  on 
a  damsel  with  soft  words  in  the  hall,  and  will  kiss  the  dust  off 
their  queen's  feet,  and  die  for  a  hair  of  their  goddess's  eyebrow ; 
and  then  if  they  catch  her  in  the  forest,  show  themselves  as  very 
ruffians  as  if  they  were  Paynim  Moors.  We  are  rough,  lad}', 
we  English :  but  those  who  trust  us,  find  us  true." 

"  And  I  can  trust  you  ?  "  she  asked,  still  trembling. 

"  On  God's  cross  there  round  your  neck,"  and  he  took  her  cru- 
cifix and  kissed  it.  "  You  only  I  love,  you  only  I  will  love,  and 
you  will  I  love  in  all  honesty,  beibre  the  angels  of  heaven,  till  we 
be  wedded  man  and  wife.  Who  but  a  fool  would  soil  the  flower 
wliich  he  means  to  wear  before  all  the  world  ?  " 

"  I  knew  Hereward  was  noble  !  I  knew  I  had  not  trusted  hira 
in  vain ! " 

"  I  kept  faith  and  honor  with  the  Princess  of  Cornwall,  when  I 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  115 

had  her  at  my  will,  and  shall  I  not  keep  faith  and  honor  with 


you 


?" 


"  The  Princess  of  Cornwall  ?  "  asked  Torfrida. 

"  Do  not  be  jealous,  fair  queen.  I  brouglit  her  safe  to  her  be- 
trothed ;  and  wedded  she  is,  long  ago.  I  will  tell  you  that  story 
some  day.     And  now  —  I  must  go." 

''  Not  yet !  not  yet !     I  have  something  to  —  to  show  you." 

She  motioned  him  to  go  up  the  narrow  stairs,  or  rather  lad- 
der, which  led  to  the  upper  floor,  and  then  led  him  into  her 
chamber. 

A  lady's  chamber  was  then,  in  days  when  privacy  was  little 
cared  for,  her  usual  reception  room ;  and  the  bed,  which  stood  in 
an  alcove,  ^as  the  common  seat  of  her  and  her  guests.  But  Tor- 
frida did  not  ask  him  to  sit  down.  She  led  the  way  onward 
towards  a  door  beyond. 

Hereward  followed,  glancing  with  awe  at  the  books,  parch- 
ments, and  strange  instruments  which  lay  on  the  table  and  the 
floor. 

The  old  Lapp  nurse  sat  in  the  window,  sewing  busily.  She 
looked  up,  and  smiled  meaningly.  But  as  she  saw  Torfrida  un- 
lock the  further  door  with  one  of  the  keys  which  hung  at  her 
girdle,  she  croaked  out,  — 

"  Too  fast !     Too  fast !     Trust  lightly,  and  repent  heavily." 

"  Trust  once  and  for  all,  or  never  trust  at  all,"  said  Torfrida,  as 
she  opened  the  door. 

Hereward  saw  within  rich  dresses  hung  on  perches  round  the 
wall,  and  chests  barred  and  padlocked. 

"These  are  treasures,"  said  she,  "which  many  a  knight  and 
nobleman  has  coveted.  By  cunning,  by  flattery,  by  threats  of 
force  even,  have  they  tried  to  win  what  lies  here,  —  and  Torfrida 
hers<;lf,  too,  for  the  sake  of  her  wealth.  But  thanks  to  the  Abbot 
my  uncle,  Torfrida  is  still  her  own  mistress,  and  mistress  of  the 
wealth  which  her  forefathers  won  by  sea  and  land  far  away  in 
the  East.  All  here  is  mine,  —  and  if  you  be  but  true  to  me, 
all  mine  is  yours.  Lift  the  lid  for  me,  it  is  too  heavy  for  my 
arms." 

Hereward  did  so;  and  saw  within  golden  cups  and  bracelefs, 
horns  of  ivory  and  silver,  bags  of  coin,  and  among  them  a  mail 
shirt  and  helmet,  on  which  he  fixed  at  once  silent  and  greedy 
eyes. 

She  looked  at  his  face  askance,  and  smiled.  "  Yes,  these  are 
more  to  Here  ward's  taste  than  gold  and  jewels.  And  he  shall 
have  them.  He  shall  have  them  as  a  proof  that  if  Torfrida  has 
set  her  love  upon  a  worthy  knigltt,  she  is  at  li-ast  worthy  of  him ; 
and  does  not  demand,  without  being  able  to  give  in  return." 


116  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

And  she  took  out  the  armor,  and  held  it  up  to  him. 

"  This  is  the  work  of  dwarfs  or  enchanters !  This  was  not 
forged  by  mortal  man !  It  must  have  come  out  of  some  old 
cavern,  or  dragon's  hoard ! "  said  Here  ward,  in  astonishment  at 
the  extreme  delicacy  and  slightness  of  the  mail-rings,  and  the 
richness  of  the  gold  and  silver  with  which  both  hauberk  and  helm 
were  inlaid. 

"  Enchanted  it  is,  they  say ;  but  its  maker,  who  can  tell  ?  My 
ancestor  won  it,  and  by  the  side  of  Charles  Martel.  Listen,  and 
I  will  tell  you  how. 

"  You  have  heard  of  fair  Provence,  where  I  spent  my  youth ; 
the  land  of  the  sunny  south  ;  the  land  of  the  fig  and  the  olive, 
the  mulberry  and  the  rose,  the  tulip  and  the  anemoae,  and  all 
rich  fruits  and  fair  flowers,  —  the  land  where  every  city  is  piled 
with  temples  and  theatres  and  towers  as  high  as  heaven,  which 
the  old  Romans  built  with  their  enchantments,  and  tormented  the 
blessed  martyrs  therein." 

"  Heavens,  how  beautiful  you  are  ! "  cried  Hereward,  as  her 
voice  shaped  itself  into  a  song,  and  her  eyes  flashed,  at  the  re- 
membrance of  her  southern  home. 

Torfrida  was  not  altogether  angry  at  finding  that  he  was  think- 
ing of  her,  and  not  of  her  words. 

"  Peace,  and  listen.  You  know  how  the  Paynim  held  that 
land,  —  the  Saracens,  to  whom  Mahound  taught  all  the  wisdom 
of  Solomon,  —  as  they  teach  us  in  turn,"  she  added  in  a  lower 
voice. 

"And  how  Charles  and  his  Paladins,"  [Charles  Martel  and 
Charlemagne  were  perpetually  confounded  in  the  legends  of  the 
time]  "  drove  them  out,  and  conquered  the  country  again  for 
God  and  his  mother." 

"  I  have  heard  —  "  but  he  did  not  take  his  eyes  off  her  face. 

"  They  were  in  the  theatre  at  Aries,  the  Saracens,  where  the 
blessed  martyr  St.  Trophimus  had  died  in  torments ;  they  had 
set  up  there  their  idol  of  Maliound,  and  turned  the  place  into  a 
forh'ess.  Charles  burnt  it  over  their  heads  :  you  see  —  I  have 
^^een  —  the  blackened  walls,  the  blood-stained  marbles,  to  this 
day.  Then  they  fled  into  the  plain,  and  there  they  turned  and 
fought.  Under  INIont  Majeur,  by  the  hermit's  cell,  they  fouslit  a 
summer's  day,  till  they  were  all  slain.  There  was  an  Emir 
among  them,  black  as  a  raven,  clad  in  magic  armor.  All  lances 
turned  from  it,  all  swords  shivered  on  it.  He  rode  through  the 
press  without  a  wound,  while  every  stroke  of  his  scymitar  shore 
off  a  head  of  horse  or  man.  Charles  himself  rode  at  liim,  and 
smote  him  with  his  hammer.  Tihey  heard  the  blow  in  Avignon, 
full  thirty  miles  away.     The  flame  flashed  out  from  the  magic 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  117 

armor  a  fathom's  length,  blinding  all  around ;  and  when  they 
recovered  their  sight,  the  enchanter  was  far  away  in  the  battle, 
killing  as  he  went. 

'•  Then  Charles  cried,  '  Who  will  stop  that  devil,  whom  no 
steel  can  wound?  Help  us,  O  blessed  martyr  St.  Trophimus, 
and  save  the  soldiers  of  the  Cross  from  ^hame ! ' 

"  Then  cried  Torfrid,  my  forefather,  '  What  use  in  crying  to 
St,  Trophimus  ?  He  could  not  help  himself,  when  the  Paynira 
burnt  him :  and  how  can  he  help  us  ?  A  tough  arm  is  worth  a 
score  of  martyrs  here.' 

"  And  he  rode  at  that  Emir,  and  gript  him  in  his  arms.  They 
both  fell,  and  rolled  together  on  the  ground ;  but  Torfrid  never 
loosed  his  hold  till  he  had  crushed  out  his  unbaptized  soul  and 
sent  it  to  join  Mahound  in  hell. 

"  Then  he  took  his  armor,  and  brought  it  home  in  triumph. 
But  after  a  while  he  fell  sick  of  a  fever ;  and  the  blessed  St. 
Trophimus  appeared  to  him,  and  told  him  that  it  was  a  punish- 
ment for  his  blasphemy  in  the  battle.  So  he  repented,  and  vowed 
to  serve  the  saint  all  his  life.  On  which  he  was  healed  instantly, 
and  fell  to  religion,  and  went  back  to  Mont  Majeur ;  and  there 
he  was  a  hermit  in  the  cave  under  the  rock,  and  tended  the 
graves  hewn  in  the  living  stone,  where  his  old  comrades,  the 
Paladins  who  were  slain,  sleep  side  by  side  round  the  church 
of  the  Holy  Cross.  But  the  armor  he  left  here ;  and  he  laid  a 
curse  upon  it,  that  whosoever  of  his  descendants  should  lose  that 
armor  in  fight,  should  die  childless,  without  a  son  to  wield  a 
sword.  And  therefore  it  is  that  none  of  his  ancestors,  valiant 
as  they  have  been,  have  dared  to  put  this  harness  on  their 
backs." 

And  so  ended  a  story,  which  Torfrida  believed  utterly,  and 
Hereward  likewise. 

"  And  now,  Hereward  mine,  dare  you  wear  that  magic  armor, 
and  face  old  Torfrid's  curse  ?  " 

"  What  dare  I  not  ?  " 

"  Think.     If  you  lose  it,  in  you  your  race  must  end." 

"  Let  it  end.     I  accept  the  curse." 

And  he  put  the^rmor  on. 

But  he  trembled  as  he  did  it.  Atheism  and  superstition  go 
too  often  hand  in  hand ;  and  godless  as  he  was,  sceptical  of 
Providence  itself,  and  much  more  of  the  help  of  saint  or  angel, 
still  the  curse  of  the  old  warrior,  like  the  malice  of  a  witch  or  a 
demon,  was  to  him  a  thing  possible,  probable,  and  formidable. 

She  looked  at  him  in  pride  and  exultation. 

"  It  is  yours,  —  the  invulnerable  harness  !  Wear  it  in  the  fore- 
front of  the  battle  !     And  if  weapon  wound  you  through  it,  may 


118  HERE  WARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

I,  as  punishment  for  my  lie,  suffer  the  same  upon  my  tender 
body,  — a  wound  for  every  wound  of  yours,  my  knight ! "  * 

And  after  that  they  sat  side  by  side,  and  talked  of  love  with 
all  honor  and  honesty,  never  heeding  the  old  hag,  who  crooned 
to  herself  in  her  barbarian  tongue,  — 

"  Quick  thaw,  long  frost, 
Quick  joy,  long  pain. 
Soon  found,  soon  lost, 
Yon  will  take  your  gift  again." 

*  "  Volo  enim  in  meo  tale  quid  nunc  perpeti  corpore  semel,  quicqnid  eas 
ferrei  vel  e  metallo  excederet." 


CHAPTER    XI. 

HOW  THE  HOLLANDERS  TOOK  HEREWARD   FOR  A  MAGICIAN. 

Of  this  weary  Holland  war  which  dragged  itself  on  campaign 
after  campaign  for  several  years,  what  need  to  tell  ?  There  was, 
doubtless,  the  due  amount  of  murder,  plunder,  burning,  and 
worse ;  and  the  final  event  was  certain  from  the  beginning.  It 
was  a  struggle  between  civilized  and  discij)lined  men,  armed  to 
the  teeth,  well  furnished  with  ships  and  military  engines,  against 
poor  simple  folk  in  "  felt  coats  stiffened  with  tar  or  turpentine,  or 
in  very  short  jackets  of  hide,"  says  the  chronicler,  "  who  fought 
by  threes,  two  with  a  crooked  lance  and  three  darts  each,  and 
between  them  a  man  with  a  sword  or  an  axe,  who  held  his 
shield  before  those  two  ;  —  a  very  great  multitude,  but  in  com- 
position utterly  undisciplined,"  who  came  down  to  the  sea-coast, 
with  carts  and  wagons,  to  carry  off  the  spoils  of  the  Flemings, 
and  bade  them  all  surrender  at  discretion,  and  go  home  again 
after  giving  up  Count  Robert  and  Hereward,  with  the  "  tribunes 
of  the  brigades,"  to  be  put  to  deatii,  as  valiant  South  Sea  island- 
ers might  have  done  ;  and  then  found  themselves  as  sheep  to  the 
slaughter  before  the  cunning  Herevvard,  whom  they  esteemed  a 
magician  on  account  of  his  craft  and  his  invulnerable  armor. 

So  at  least  says  Leofric's  paraphrast,  who  tells  long,  confused 
stories  of  battles  and  campaigns,  some  of  them  without  due  re- 
gard to  chronology;  for  it  is  certain  that  the  brave  Fi'isians 
could  not  on  Robert's  first  landing  have  "  feared  lest  they  should 
be  conquered  by  foreigners,  as  they  had  heard  the  English  were 
by  the  French,"  because  that  event  had  not  then  happened. 
A-nd  so  much  for  the  war  among  the  Meres  of  Scheldt. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

HOW  HEREWARD  TURNED  BERSERK. 

Torprida's  heart  misgave  her  that  first  night  as  to  the  effects 
of  her  exceeding  frankness.  Her  pride  in  the  first  place  was 
somewhat  wounded  ;  she  had  dreamed  of  a  knight  who  would 
worship  her  as  his  ciueen,  hang  on  her  smile,  die  at  her  frown ; 
and  she  had  meant  to  bring  Hereward  to  her  feet  as  such  a 
slave,  in  boundless  gratitude ;  but  had  he  not  rather  held  his 
own,  and  brought  her  to  his  feet,  by  assuming  her  devotion  as 
his  right  ?  And  if  he  assumed  that,  how  far  could  she  trust  him 
not  to  abuse  his  claim  ?  Was  he  quite  as  perfect  seen  close  as 
seen  afar  off?  And  now  that  the  intoxication  of  that  meeting 
had  passed  off,  she  began  to  remember  more  than  one  little  fault 
which  she  would  have  gladly  seen  mended.  Certain  roughnesses 
of  manner  which  contrasted  unfavorably  with  the  polish  (merely 
external  though  it  was)  of  the  Flemish  and  Noi-man  knights ; 
a  boastful  self-sufficiency,  too,  which  bordered  on  the  ludicrous  at 
whiles  even  in  her  partial  eyes ;  which  would  be  a  matter  of 
open  laughter  to  the  knights  of  the  Court.  Besides,  if  they 
laughed  at  him,  they  would  laugh  at  her  for  choosing  him.  And 
then  wounded  vanity  came  in  to  help  wounded  pride  ;  and  she 
sat  over  the  cold  embers  till  almost  dawn  of  day,  her  head 
between  her  hands,  musing  sadly,  and  half  wishing  that  the  ir- 
revocable yesterday  had  never  come. 

But  when,  after  a  few  months,  Hereward  returned  from  his 
first  campaign  in  Holland,  covered  with  glory  and  renown,  all 
smiles,  and  beauty,  and  health,  and  good-humor,  and  gratitude 
for  the  magic  armor  which  had  preserved  him  unhurt,  then 
Torfrida  forgot  all  her  fears,  and  thought  herself  the  happiest 
maid  alive  for  four-and-twenty  hours  at  least. 

And  then  came  back,  and  after  that  again  and  again,  the  old 
fears.  Gradually  she  found  out  thut  the  sneers  which  she  had 
heard  at  English  barbarians  were  not  altogether  without  ground. 
Not  only  had  her  lover's  hfe  been  passed  among  half-brutal  and 
wild  adventurers ;  but,  like  the  rest  of  his  nation,  he  liad  never 
felt  the  influence  of  that  classic  civilization  without  which  good 
manners  seem,  even  to  this  day,  almost  beyond  the  reach  of  the 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       121 

white  man.  Those  among  whom  she  had  been  brought  up, 
•whether  soldiers  or  clerks,  were  probably  no  nobler  or  purer  at 
heart  —  she  would  gladly  have  believed  them  far  le?s  so  —  than 
Herewai'd ;  but  the  merest  varnish  of  Roman  civilization  had 
given  a  charm  to  their  manners,  a  wideness  of  range  to  their 
thoughts,  whicli  Hereward  had  not. 

Especially  when  he  had  taken  too  mufh  to  drink,  —  which  he 
did,  after' the  Danish  fashion,  far  oftener  than  the  rest  of  Bald- 
win's men,  —  he  grew  rude,  boastful,  quarrelsome.  He  would 
chant  his  own  doughty  deeds,  and  "  gab,"  as  the  Norman  word 
was,  in  painful  earnest,  while  they  gabbed  only  in  sport,  and 
outvied  each  other  in  impossible  fanfarronades,  simply  to  hiugh 
down  a  fashion  which  was  held  inconsistent  with  the  modesty  of 
a  true  knight.  Bitter  it  was  to  her  to  hear  him  announcing  to 
the  company,  not  for  the  first  or  second  time,  how  he  had  slain 
the  Cornish  giant,  whose  height  increased  by  a  foot  at  least  every 
time  he  was  mentioned ;  and  then  to  hear  him  answered  by  some 
smart,  smooth-shaven  youth,  who,  with  as  much  mimicry  of  his 
manner  as  he  dared  to  assume,  boasted  of  liaving  slain  in  Araby 
a  giant  with  two  heads,  and  taken  out  of  his  two  mouths  the  two 
halves  of  the  princess  whom  he  was  devouring,  which  being 
joined  together  afterwards  by  the  prayers  of  a  holy  hermit,  were 
delivered  back  safe  and  sound  to  her  father  the  King  of  Antioch. 
And  more  bitter  still,  to  hear  Hereward  angrily  dispute  the 
story,  unaware  (at  least  at  first)  that  he  was  being  laughed  at. 

Then  she  grew  sometimes  cold,  sometimes  contemptuous,  some- 
times altogether  fierce ;  and  shed  bitter  tears  in  secret,  when  she 
was  complimented  on  the  modesty  of  her  young  savage. 

But  she  was  a  brave  maiden  ;  and  what  was  more,  she  loved 
him  with  all  her  heart.  Else  why  endure  bitter  words  for  his 
sake  ?  And  she  set  herself  to  teach  and  train  the  wild  outlaw 
into  her  ideal  of  a  very  perfect  knight. 

She  talked  to  him  of  modesty  and  humility,  the  root  of  all 
virtues;  of  chivalry  and  self-sacrifice;  of  respect  to  the  weak, 
and  mercy  to  the  fallen ;  of  devotion  to  God,  and  awe  of  His 
commandments.  Slie  set  before  him  the  example  of  ancient 
heroes  and  philosophers,  of  saints  and  martyrs  ;  and  as  much 
awed  him  by  her  learning  as  by  the  new  world  of  higher  and 
purer  morality  which  was  opened  for  the  first  time  to  the 
wandering  Viking. 

And  he  drank  it  all  in.  Taught  by  a  woman  who  loved  him, 
he  could  listen  to  humiliating  truths,  which  he  would  have 
sneered  at,  had  they  come  from  the  lips  of  a  hermit  or  a  priest. 
Often  he  rebelled  ;  often  he  broke  loose,  and  made  her  angry,  and 
himself  ashamed :  but  the  spell  was  on  him,  —  a  far  surer,  as  well 
6 


122  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

as  purer  spell  than  any  love-potion  of  which  foolish  Torfrida  had 
ever  dreamed,  —  the  only  spell  which  can  reaUy  civilize  man,  — 
that  of  woman's  tact  and  woman's  purity. 

But  there  were  relapses,  as  was  natural.  The  wine  at  Robert 
the  Frison's  table  was  often  too  good ;  and  then  Hereward's 
tongue  was  loosed,  and  Torfrida  justly  indignant.  And  one 
evening  there  came  a  very  serious  relapse,  and  out  of  which  arose 
a  strange  adventure. 

For  one  day  the  Great  Marquis  sent  for  his  son  to  Bruges, 
ere  he  set  out  for  another  campaign  in  HoHand ;  and  made  him  a 
great  feast,  to  which  lie  invited  Torfrida  and  her  mother.  For 
Adela  of  Fi-ance,  the  Queen  Countess,  had  heard  so  much  of 
Torfrida's  beauty,  that  she  must  needs  have  her  as  one  of  her 
bower-maidens ;  and  her  mother,  who  was  an  old  friend  of 
Adela's,  of  course  was  highly  honored  by  such  a  promotion  for 
her  daughter. 

So  they  went  to  Bruges,  and  Hereward  and  his  men  went  of 
course ;  and  they  feasted  and  harped  and  sang ;  and  the  saying 
was  fulfilled,  — 

"'Tis  merry  in  the  hall 
When  beards  wag  all." 

But  the  only  beard  which  wagged  in  that  hall  was  Hereward's ; 
for  the  Flemings,  like  the  Normans,  prided  themselves  on  their 
civilized  and  smooth-shaven  chins,  and  laughed  (behind  his  back) 
at  Hereward,  who  (jrided  himself  on  keeping  his  beautiful  Eng- 
lish beard,  with  locks  of  gold  which,  like  his  long  golden  hair, 
were  combed  and  cui-Ied  daily,  after  the  fashion  of  the  Anglo- 
Danes. 

But  Hereward's  beard  began  to  wag  somewhat  too  fast,  as  he 
sat  by  Torfrida's  side,  when  some  knight  near  began  to  tell  of  a 
wonderful  mare,  called  Swallow,  which  was  to  be  found  in  one  of 
the  islands  of  the  Scheldt,  and  was  famous  through  all  the  coun- 
try round ;  insinuating,  moreover,  that  Hereward  might  as  well 
have  brought  that  mare  home  with  him  as  a  trophy. 

Hereward  answered,  in  his  boasting  vein,  that  he  would  bring 
home  that  mare,  or  aught  else  that  he  had  a  liking  to. 

"  You  will  find  it  not  so  easy.  Her  owner,  they  say,  is  a 
mighty  strong  churl  of  a  horse-breeder,  Dirk  Hammerhand  by 
name ;  and  as  for  cutting  his  throat,  that  you  must  not  do;  for  he 
has  been  loyal  to  Countess  Gertrude,  and  sent  her  horses  when- 
ever she  needed." 

"  One  may  pick  a  fair  quarrel  with  him  nevertheless." 

"  Then  you  must  bide  such  a  buffet  as  you  never  abode  before. 
They  .'-ay  his  arm  has  seven  men's  strength ;  and  whosoever  visits 
him,  he  challenges  to  give  and  take  a  blow ;  but  every  man  that 
has  taken  a  blow  as  yet  has  never  needed  another." 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       123 

"  Hereward  will  have  need  of  his  magic  head-piece,  if  he  tries 
that  adventure,"  quoth  another. 

"  Ay,"  retorted  the  fir8t  speaker ;  "  but  the  helmet  may  stand 
the  rap  well  enough,  and  yet  the  brains  inside  be  the  worse." 

"  Not  a  doubt.  I  knew  a  man  once,  who  was  so  strong,  that  he 
■would  shake  a  nut  till  the  kernel  went  to  powder,  and  yet  never 
break  the  shell." 

"  That  is  a  lie  ! "  quoth  Hereward.  And  so  it  was,  and  told 
purposely  to  make  him  expose  him>elf. 

Whereon  high  words  followed,  which  Torfrida  tried  in  vain  to 
stop.     Hereward  was  flushed  with  ire  and  scorn. 

"  Magic  armor,  forsooth  ! "  cried  he  at  last.  "  What  care  I 
for  armor  or  for  magic?  I  will  wager  to  you"  — "  my  armor," 
he  was  on  the  point  of  saying,  but  he  checked  himself  in  time  — 
*'  any  horse  in  my  stable,  that  I  go  in  my  shirt  to  Scaldmariland, 
and  bring  back  that  mare  single-handed." 

"  Hark  to  the  Englishman.  He  has  turned  Berserk  at  last, 
like  his  forefathers.  You  will  surely  start  in  a  pair  of  hose  as 
well,  or  the  ladies  will  be  shamed." 

And  so  forth,  till  Torfrida  was  purple  with  shame,  and  wished 
herself  fathoms  deep  ;  and  Adela  of  France  called  sternly  from 
the  head  of  the  table  to  ask  what  the  wrangling  meant. 

"  It  is  only  the  English  Berserker,  the  Lady  Torfrida's  cham- 
pion," said  some  one,  in  his  most  courteous  tone,  "  who  is  not  yet 
as  well  acquainted  with  the  customs  of  knighthood  as  that  fair 
lady  hopes  to  make  him  hereafter." 

"  Torfrida's  champion  ?  "  asked  Adela,  in  a  tone  of  surprise, 
if  not  scorn. 

"  If  any  knight  quarrels  with  my  Hereward,  he  quarrels  with 
Robert  himself!  "  thundered  Count  Robert.     "  Silence  !  " 

And  so  the  matter  was  hushed  up. 

The  banquet  ended  ;  and  they  walked  out  into  the  garden  to 
cool  their  heads,  and  play  at  games,  and  dance. 

Torfrida  avoided  Hereward :  but  he,  with  the  foolish  perti- 
nacity of  a  man  who  knows  he  has  had  too  much  wine,  and  yet 
pretends  to  himself  that  he  has  not,  would  follow  her,  and  speak 
to  her. 

She  turned  away  more  than  once.  At  last  she  was  forced  to 
speak  to  him. 

"  So !  You  have  made  me  a  laughing-stock  to  these  knights. 
You  have  scorned  at  my  gifts.  You  have  said  —  and  before 
these  men,  too  —  that  you  need  neither  helm  nor  hauberk.  Give 
me  them  back,  then.  Berserker  as  you  are,  and  go  sleep  off  your 
wine." 

"  That  will  I,"  laughed  Hereward  boisterously. 


124  HEREWAED,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

"  You  are  tipsy,"  said  she,  "  and  do  not  know  what  you  say." 

"  You  are  an^ry,  and  do  not  know  what  you  say."  Hearken, 
proud  lass.  I  will  take  care  of  one  thing,  and  that  is,  that  you 
shall  speak  the  truth." 

"  Did  I  not  say  that  you  were  tipsy  ?  " 

"  Pish !  You  said  that  I  was  a  Berserker.  And  truth  you 
shall  speak  ;  for  baresark  I  go  to-morrow  to  the  war,  and  baresark 
I  win  that  mare  or  die." 

"  That  will  be  very  fit  for  you." 

And  the  two  turned  haughtily  from  each  other. 

Ere  Torfrida  went  to  bed  that  night,  there  was  a  violent  knock- 
ing. Angry  as  she  was,  she  was  yet  anxious  enough  to  hurry  out 
of  her  chamber,  and  open  the  door  herself. 

Martin  Lightfoot  stood  there  with  a  large  leather  case,  which 
he  flimg  at  her  feet  somewhat  unceremoniously. 

"  There  is  some  gear  of  yours,"  said  he,  as  it  clanged  and  rat- 
tled on  the  floor. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  man  ?  " 

"  Only  that  my  master  bid  me  say  that  he  cares  as  little  for  hi3 
own  life  as  you  do."     And  he  turned  away. 

She  caught  him  by  tlie  arm :  — 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?     Wliat  is  in  this  mail  ?  " 

"You  should  know  best.  If  young  folks  cannot  be  content 
when  they  are  well  off,  they  will  go  farther  and  fare  worse,"  says 
IMartin  Lightfoot.  And  he  slipt  from  her  grasp  and  fled  into  the 
night. 

She  took  the  mail  to  her  room  and  opened  it.  It  contained 
the  magic  armor. 

All  her  anger  was  melted  away.  She  cried ;  she  blamed  her- 
self. He  would  be  killed ;  his  blood  would  be  on  her  head.  She 
would  have  carried  it  back  to  him  with  her  own  hands  ;  she  would 
have  entreated  him  on  her  knees  to  take  it  back.  But  how  face 
the  courtiers  ?  and  how  find  him  ?  Very  probably,  too,  he  was  by 
that  time  hopelessly  drunk.  And  at  that  thought  she  drew  her- 
self into  herself,  and  trying  to  harden  her  heart  again,  went  to 
bed,  but  not  to  sleep ;  and  bitterly  she  cried  as  she  thought  over 
the  old  hag's  croon  :  — 

"  Quick  joy,  long  pain, 
You  will  take  your  gift  again." 

It  might  have  been  five  o'clock  the  next  morning  when  the 
clarion  rang  down  the  street.  She  sprang  up  and  drest  herself 
quickly ;  but  never  more  carefully  or  gayly.  She  heard  the  tramp 
of  horse-hoofs.  He  was  moving  a-field  early,  indeed.  Should 
she  go  to  the  window  to  bid  him  farewell  ?  Should  she  hide  her- 
self in  just  anger  ? 


HEREWAED,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       125 

She  looked  out  stealthily  through  the  blind  of  the  little  window 
in  the  gable.  There  rode  down  the  street  Robert  le  Prison  in 
full  armor,  and  behind  him,  knight  after  knight,  "a  wall  of  shining 
steel.  But  by  his  side  rode  one  bare-headed,  his  long  yellow 
cui'ls  floating  over  his  shoulders.  His  boot-  had  golden  spurs,  a 
gilt  belt  held  up  his  swoi'd ;  but  his  only  dress  was  a  silk  shirt 
and  silk  hose.  He  laughed  and  sang,  and  made  his  horse  caracol, 
and  tos^ied  his  lance  in  the  air,  and  caught  it  by  the  point,  like 
Taillefer  at  Hastings,  as  he  passed  under  the  window. 

She  threw  open  the  blind,  careless  of  all  appearances.  She 
would  have  called  to  him  :  but  the  words  choked  her ;  and  what 
should  she  say  ? 

He  looked  up  boldly,  and  smiled. 

"  Farewell,  fair  lady  mine.  Drunk  I  was  last  night :  but  not 
so  drunk  as  to  forget  a  promise." 

And  he  rode  on,  while  Torfrida  rushed  away  and  broke  into 
wild  weeping. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

HOW  HEREWARD  WON  MARE  SWALLOW. 

On  a  bench  at  the  door  of  his  high-roofed  wooden  house  sat 
Dirk  Hammerhand,  the  richest  man  in  Walcheren.  From  within 
the  house  sounded  the  pleasant  noise  of  slave-women,  grinding 
and  chatting  at  the  handquern ;  from  without,  the  pleasant  noise 
of  geese  and  fowls  without  number.  And  as  he  sat  and  drank 
his  ale,  and  watched  the  herd  of  horses  in  the  fen,  he  thought 
himself  a  happy  man,  and  thanked  his  Odin  and  Thor  that  owing 
to  his  pi'incely  supplies  of  horses  to  Countess  Gertrude,  Robert 
the  Frison  and  his  Christian  Franks  had  not  harried  him  to  the 
bare  walls,  as  they  would  probably  do  ere  all  was  over. 

As  he  looked  at  the  horses,  some  half-mile  off,  he  saw  a  strange 
stir  among  them.  They  began  whinnying  and  pawing  round 
a  four-footed  thing  in  the  midst,  which  might  be  a  badger,  or  a 
wolf,  —  though  both  were  very  uncommon  in  that  pleasant  isle  of 
Walcheren  ;  but  which  plainly  had  no  business  there.  Whereon 
he  took  up  a  mighty  staff,  and  strode  over  the  fen  to  see. 

He  found  neither  wolf  nor  badger ;  but  to  his  exceeding  sur- 
prise, a  long  lean  man.  clothed  in  ragged  horse-skins,  whinnying 
and  neighing  exactly  like  a  horse,  and  then  stooping  to  eat  grass 
like  one.  He  advanced  to  do  the  first  thing  which  came  into  his 
head,  namely  to  break  the  man's  back  with  his  staff,  and  ask  him 
afterwards  who  he  might  be.  But  ere  he  could  strike,  the  man 
or  horse  kicked  up  with  his  hind  legs  in  his  face,  and  then  spring- 
ing on  to  the  said  hind  legs  ran  away  with  extraordinary  swiftness 
some  fifty  yards  ;  and  then  went  down  on  all-fours  and  began 
grazing  again. 

"  Beest  thou  man  or  devil  ?  "  cried  Dirk,  somewhat  frightened. 

The  thing  looked  up.     The  face  at  least  was  human. 

"  Art  thou  a  Christian  man  ?  "  asked  it  in  bad  Frisian,  inter- 
mixed with  snorts  and  neighs. 

"  What 's  that  to  thee  ?  "  growled  Dirk  ;  and  began  to  wish  a 
little  that  he  was  one,  having  heard  that  the  sign  of  the  cross  was 
of  great  virtue  in  driving  away  fiends. 

"  Thou  art  not  Christian.  Thou  believest  in  Thor  and  Odin  ? 
Then  there  is  hope." 


HEREWAKD,   THE  LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH.  127 

*'  Hope  of  what  ?  "  Dirk  was  growing  more  and  more  fright- 
ened. 

"  Of  her,  ray  sister  !  Ah,  my  sister,  can  it  be  that  I  shall  find 
thee  at  last,  after  ten  thousand  miles,  and  thirty  years  of  woful 
wandering  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  man's  sister  here.  At  least,  my  wife's  brother  was 
killed  —  " 

"  I  speak  not  of  a  sister  in  a  woman's  shape.  Mine,  alas !  — 
O  woful  prince,  O  more  woful  princess!  —  eats  the  herb  of  the 
field  somewhere  in  the  shape  of  a  mare,  as  ugly  as  she  was  once 
beautiful,  but  swifter  than  the  swallow  on  the  wing." 

"  I  've  none  such  here,"  quoth  Dirk,  thoroughly  frightened,  and 
glancing  uneasily  at  mare  Swallow. 

"  You  have  not  ?  Alas,  wretched  me  !  It  was  prophesied  to 
me,  by  the  witch,  that  I  should  find  her  iij  the  field  of  one  who 
worshipped  the  old  gods ;  for  had  she  come  across  a  holy  priest, 
she  had  been  a  woman  again,  long  ago.  Whither  must  I  wan- 
der afresh ! "  And  the  thing  began  weeping  bitterly,  and  then 
ate  more  grass. 

''I  —  that  is  —  thou  poor  miserable  creature,"  said  Dirk,  half 
pitying,  half  wishing  to  turn  the  subject,  "  leave  off  making  a 
beast  of  thyself  awhile,  and  tell  me  who  thou  art." 

"  I  have  made  no  beast  of  myself,  most  noble  Earl  of  the 
Frisians,  for  so  you  doubtless  are.  I  was  made  a  beast  of,  —  a 
horse  of,  by  an  enchanter  of  a  certain  land,  and  my  sister  a 
mare." 

"  Thou  dost  not  say  so  ?  "  quoth  Dirk,  who  considered  such  an 
event  quite  possible. 

"  I  was  a  prince  of  the  county  of  Alboronia,  which  lies  between 
Cathay  and  the  Mountains  of  the  Moon,  as  fair  once  as  I  am  foul 
now,  and  only  less  fair  than  my  lost  sister ;  and,  by  the  enchant- 
ments of  a  cruel  magician,  we  became  what  we  are." 

"  But  thou  art  not  a  horse,  at  all  events  ?  " 

"  Am  I  not  ?  Tiiou  knowcst,  then,  more  of  me  than  I  do  of 
myself,"  —  and  it  ate  more  grass.  "  But  hear  the  rest  of  my 
story.  My  hapless  sister  was  sold  away,  with  me,  to  a  mer- 
chant; but  I,  breaking  loose  from  him,  fled  until  I  bathed  in  a 
magic  fountain.  At  once  I  recovered  my  man's  shape,  and  was 
rejoicing  therein,  when  out  of  the  fountain  rose  a  fairy  more 
beautiful  than  an  elf,  and  smiled  upon  me  with  love. 

"  She  asked  me  my  story,  and  I  told  it.  And  when  it  was 
told,  '  Wretch ! '  she  cried,  *  and  coward,  who  hast  deserted  tliy 
sister  in  her  need.  I  would  have  loved  thee,  and  made  thee  im- 
mortal as  myself;  but  now  thou  shalt  wander,  ugly,  and  eating 
grass,  clothed  in  the  horse-hide  which  has  just  dropped  from  thy 


128  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

limbs,  till  thou  shalt  find  thy  sister,  and  bring  her  to  bathe,  like 
thee,  in  this  magic  well.'" 

"All  good  spirits  help  ns !     And  you  are  really  a  prince?" 

"  As  surely,"  cried  the  thing,  with  a  voice  of  sudden  rapture, 
"as  that  mare  is  my  sister";  and  he  rushed  at  mare  Swallow. 
"I  see,  I  see,  my  mother's  eyes,  my  father's  nose — " 

"  He  must  have  been  a  chuckle-headed  king  that,  then," 
grinned  Dirk  to  himself.  "  The  mare's  nose  is  as  big  as  a  buck- 
basket.  But  how  can  she  be  a  princess,  man,  —  prince,  I  mean? 
she  has  a  foal  running  by  her  here." 

"  A  foal  ?  "  said  the  thing,  solemnly.  "  Let  me  behold  it. 
Alas,  alas,  my  sister !  Thy  tyrant's  threat  has  come  true,  that 
thou  shouldst  be  his  bride  whether  thou  would.-t  or  not.  I  see,  I 
see  in  the  features  of  thy  son  his  hated  lineaments." 

"  Why  he  must  be  as  like  a  horse,  then,  as  your  father.  But 
this  will  not  do.  Master  Horse-man ;  I  know  that  foal's  pedigree 
better  than  I  do  my  own." 

"  Man,  man,  simple,  though  honest !  Hast  thou  never  heard 
of  the  skill  of  the  enchanter  of  the  East  ?  How  they  transform 
their  victims  at  night  back  again  into  human  shape,  and  by  day 
into  the  shape  of  beasts  again  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  well  —  I  know  that  —  " 

"  And  do  you  not  see  how  you  are  deluded  ?  Every  night, 
doubt  not,  that  mai'e  and  foal  take  their  human  shape  again ;  and 
every  night,  perhaps,  that  foul  enchanter  visits  in  your  fen,  per- 
haps in  your  very  stable,  his  wretched  and  perhaps  unwilling 
bride." 

"  An  enchanter  in  my  stable  ?  That  is  an  ugly  guest.  But 
no.  I  've  been  into  the  stables  fifty  times,  to  see  if  that  mare 
was  safe.  Mare  was  mare,  and  colt  was  colt,  IVIr.  Prince,  if  I 
have  eyes  to  see." 

"  And, what  are  eyes  against  enchantments?  The  moment  you 
opened  the  door,  tlie  spell  was  cast  over  them  again.  You  ought 
to  thank  your  stars  that  no  worse  lias  happened  yet ;  that  the 
enchanter,  in  tleeing,  has  not  wrung  your  neck  as  he  went  out,  or 
cast  a  spell  on  you,  which  will  fire  your  barns,  lame  your  geese, 
give  your  fowls  tlie  pip,  your  horses  the  glanders,  your  cattle  the 
murrain,  your  children  the  St.  Vitus'  dance,  your  wife  the  creep- 
ing palsy,  and  yourself  the  chalk-stones  in  all  your  fingers." 

"  The  Lord  have  mei'cy  on  me !  If  the  half  of  this  be  true, 
I  will  turn  Christian.  I  will  send  for  a  priest,  and  be  baptized 
to-morrow ! " 

"  O  my  sister,  my  sister !  Dost  thou  not  know  me  ?  Dost 
thou  answer  my  caresses  with  kicks  ?  Or  is  thy  heart,  as  well 
as  thy  body,  so  enchauied  by  that  cruel  necromancer,  that  thou 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH.  129 

preferest  to  be  his,  and  scornest  thine  own  salvation,  leaving  me 
to  eat  grass  till  I  die  ?  " 

"  I  say,  Prince,  —  I  say,  —  What  would  you  have  a  raan  to 
do?  I  bought  the  mare  honestly,  and  I  have  kept  her  well. 
She  can't  say  aught  against  me  on  that  score.  And  whether  she 
be  princess  or  not,  I  'm  loath  to  part  with  her." 

"  Keep  her  then,  and  keep  with  her  the  curse  of  all  the  saints 
and  angels.  Look  down,  ye  holy  saints  "  (and  the  thing  poured 
out  a  long  string  of  saints'  names),  "and  avenge  this  Catholic 
princess,  kept  in  bestial  durance  by  an  unbaptized  heathen ! 
May  his  — " 

"  Don't !  don't !  "  roared  Dirk.  "  And  don't  look  at  me  like 
that"  (for  he  feared  the  evil  eye),  "or  I'll  bruin  you  with  my 
staflF! " 

"  Fool,  if  I  have  lost  a  horse's  figure,  I  have  not  lo-t  his  swift- 
ness. Ere  thou  couldst  strike,  I  should  have  run  a  mile  and 
back,  to  curse  thee  afresh."  And  the  thing  ran  round  him,  and 
fell  on  all-fours  again,  and  ate  grass. 

"  Mercy,  mercy  !  And  that  is  more  than  I  ever  asked  yet  of 
man.  But  it  is  hard,"  growled  he,  "  that  a  man  should  lose  his 
money,  because  a  rogue  sells  him  a  princess  in  disguise." 

"  Then  sell  her  again ;  sell  her,  as  thou  vainest  tliy  life,  to  the 
first  Christian  man  thou  meetest.  And  yet  no.  What  matters  ? 
Ere  a  month  be  over,  the  seven  years'  enchantment  will  have 
passed,  and  she  will  return  to  her  own  shape,  with  her  son,  and 
vanish  from  thy  farm,  leaving  thee  to  vain  repentance,  and  so 
thou  wilt  both  lose  thy  money  and  get  her  curse.  Farewell, 
and  my  malison  abide  with  thee." 

And  the  thing,  without  another  word,  ran  right  away,  neigh- 
ing as  it  went,  leaving  Dirk  in  a  state  of  abject  terror. 

He  went  home.  He  cursed  the  mare,  he  cursed  the  man  who 
sold  her,  he  cursed  the  day  he  saw  her,  he  cursed  the  day  he  was 
born.  He  told  his  stoiy  with  exaggeiations  and  confusions  in 
plenty  to  all  in  the  house  ;  and  terror  fell  on  them  likewise.  No 
one,  that  evening,  dare  go  down  into  the  fen  to  drive  the  hor.-es 
up ;  and  Dirk  got  very  drunk,  went  to  bed,  and  trembled  there 
all  night  (as  did  the  rest  of  the  household),  expecting  the  en- 
chanter to  enter  on  a  flaming  fire-drake,  at  every  howl  of  the 
wind. 

The  next  morning,  as  Dirk  was  going  about  his  business  with 
a  doleful  face,  casting  stealthy  glances  at  the  fen,  to  see  if  the 
mysterious  mare  was  still  there,  and  a  chance  of  his  money  still 
lelt,  a  man  rode  up  to  the  door. 

He  was  poorly  clothed,  with  a  long  rusty  sword  by  his  side. 
A  broad  felt  hat,  long  boote,  and  a  haversack  behind  his  saddle, 
6*  I 


130  HEREWARD,   THE   LAST   OF   THE   ENGLISH. 

showed  him  to  be  a  traveller,  seemingly  a  horse-dealer ;  for 
there  followed  him,  tied  head  and  tail,  a  brace  of  sorry  Dags- 

"  Heaven  save  all  here,"  quoth  he,  making  the  sign  of  the 
cross.     "  Can  any  good  Christian  give  me  a  drink  of  milk  ?  " 

"  Ale,  if  thou  wilt,"  said  Dirk.  "  But  what  art  thou,  and 
whence  ?  " 

On  any  other  day,  he  would  have  tried  to  coax  his  guest  into 
trying  a  buffet  with  him  for  his  horse  and  clothes  ;  but  this  morn- 
ing his  heart  was  heavy  with  the  thought  of  the  enchanted  mare, 
and  he  welcomed  the  chance  of  selling  her  to  the  stranger. 

"  We  are  not  very  fond  of  strangers  about  here,  since  these 
Flemings  have  been  harrying  our  borders.  If  thou  art  a  spy,  it 
will  be  worse  for  thee." 

"I  am  neither  spy  nor  Fleming;  but  a  poor  servant  of  the 
Lord  Bishop  of  Utrecht's,  buying  a  garron  or  two  for  his  lord- 
ship's priests.  As  for  these  Flemings,  may  St.  John  Baptist 
save  from  them  both  me  and  you.  Do  you  know  of  any  man 
who  has  horses  to  sell  hereabouts  ?  " 

"  There  are  horses  in  the  fen  yonder,"  quoth  Dirk,  who  knew 
that  churchmen  were  likely  to  give  a  liberal  price,  and  pay  in 
good  silver. 

"  I  saw  them  as  I  rode  up.  And  a  fine  lot  they  are ;  but  of 
too  good  a  stamp  for  my  short  purse,  or  for  my  holy  master's  rid- 
ing,—  a  fat  priest  likes  a  quiet  nag,  my  master." 

"  Humph.  Well,  if  quietness  is  what  you  need,  there  is  a 
mare  down  there,  a  child  might  ride  her  with  a  thread  of  wool. 
But  as  for  price,  —  and  she  has  a  colt,  too,  running  by  her." 

"  Ah  ?  "  quoth  the  horseman.  "  Well,  your  Walcheren  folk 
make  good  milk,  that 's  certain.  A  colt  by  her  ?  That 's  awk- 
ward. My  Lord  does  not  like  young  horses ;  and  it  would  be 
troublesome,  too,  to  take  the  thing  along  with  me." 

The  less  anxious  the  dealer  seemed  to  buy,  the  more  anxious 
grew  Dirk  to  sell ;  but  he  concealed  his  anxiety,  and  let  the 
stranger  turn  away,  thanking  him  for  his  drink. 

"  I  say  ! "  he  called  after  him.  "  You  might  look  at  her  as 
you  ride  past  tlie  herd." 

The  stranger  assented,  and  they  went  down  into  the  fen,  and 
looked  over  the  precious  mare,  whose  feats  were  afterwards  sung 
by  many  an  English  fireside,  or  in  the  forest,  beneath  the  hollins 
green,  by  such  as  Robin  Hood  and  his  merry  men.  The  ugliest, 
as  well  as  the  swiftest,  of  mares,  she  was,  say  the  old  chroniclers ; 
and  it  was  not  till  the  stranger  had  looked  twice  at  her,  that  he 
forgot  her  great  chuckle  head,  greyhound-flanks,  and  drooping 
hind-quarters,  and  began  to  see  the  great  length  of  those  same 
quarters,  —  the    thighs   let   down   into   the   hocks,   the   arched 


HEREWAED,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       131 

loin,  the  extraordinary  girth  through  the  saddle,  the  sloping 
shoulder,  the  long  arms,  the  flat  knees,  the  large,  well-set  hoofs, 
and  all  the  other  points  which  showed  her  strength  and  speed, 
and  justified  her  fame. 

"  She  might  carry  a  big  man  like  you  through  the  mud,"  said 
he,  carelessly,  "but  as  for  pace,  one  cannot  expect  that  with  such 
a  chuckle  head.  And  if  one  rode  her  through  a  town,  the  boys 
would  call  after  one,  '  All  head  and  no  tail.'  Why,  I  can't  see 
her  tail  for  her  quarters,  it  is  so  ill  set  on." 

"  111  set  on,  or  none,"  said  Dirk,  testily ;  "  don't  go  to  speak 
against  her  pace  till  you  have  seen  it.     Here,  lass !  " 

Dirk  was,  in  his  heart,  rather  afraid  of  the  princess ;  but  he 
was  comforted  when  she   came  up  to  him  like  a  dog. 

"  Slie  's  as  sensible  as  a  woman,"  said  he  ;  and  then  grumbled 
to  himself,  "  may  be  she  knows  I  mean  to  part  with  her." 

"  Lend  me  your  saddle,"  said  he  to  the  stranger. 

The  stranger  did  so ;  and  Dirk  mounting  galloped  her  in  a 
ring.  There  was  no  doubt  of  her  powers,  as  soon  as  she  began 
to  move. 

"  I  hope  you  won't  remember  this  against  me,  madam,"  said 
Dirk,  as  soon  as  he  got  out  of  the  stranger's  hearing.  "  I  can't 
do  less  than  sell  you  to  a  Christian.  And  certainly  I  have  been 
as  good  a  master  to  you  as  if  I  'd  known  who  you  were  ;  but  if 
you  wish  to  stay  with  me  you  've  only  to  kick  me  off,  and  say  so, 
and  I  'm  yours  to  command." 

"  Well,  she  can  gallop  a  bit,"  said  the  stranger,  as  Dirk 
pulled  her  up  and  dismounted;  "  but  an  ugly  brute  she  is  never- 
theless, and  such  a  one  as  I  should  not  care  to  ride,  for  I  am  a 
gay  man  among  the  ladies.     However,  what  is  your  price  ?  " 

Dirk  named  twice  as  much  as  he  would  have  taken. 

"  Half  that,  you  mean."     And  the  usual  haggle  began. 

"  Tell  thee  what,"  said  Dirk  at  last,  "I  am  a  man  who  has 
his  fancies ;  and  this  shall  be  her  price ;  half  thy  bid,  and  a  box 
on  the  ear." 

The  demon  of  covetousness  had  entered  Dirk's  heart.  What 
if  he  got  the  money,  brained  or  at  least  disabled  the  stranger, 
and  so  had  a  chance  of  selling  the  mare  a  second  time  to  some 
fresh  comer  ? 

"  Thou  art  a  strange  fellow,"  quoth  the  horse-dealer.  "  But 
so  be  it." 

Dirk  chuckled.  "  He  does  not  know,"  thought  he,  "  that  he 
has  to  do  with  Dirk  Hammerhand,"  and  he  clenched  his  fist  in 
anticipation  of  his  rough  joke. 

"  There,"  quoth  the  stranger,  counting  out  the  money  carefully, 
*'  is  thy  coin.     And  there  —  is  thy  box  on  the  ear." 


-    132  HEREWAED,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

And  with  a  blow  which  rattled  over  the  fen,  he  felled  Dirk 
Hammerhand  to  the  ground. 

He  lay  senseless  for  a  moment,  and  then  looked  wildly  round. 
His  jaw  was  broken. 

"  Villain ! "  groaned  he.  "  It  was  I  who  was  to  give  the 
buffet,  not  thou  !  " 

"  Art  mad  ?  "  asked  the  stranger,  as  he  coolly  picked  up  the 
coins,  which  Dirk  had  scattered  in  his  fall.  "  It  is  the  seller's 
business  to  take,  and  the  buyer's  to  give." 

And  while  Dirk  roared  for  helpr  in  vain  he  leapt  on  mare 
Swallow  and  rode  off  shouting,  "  Aha !  Dirk  Hammerhand ! 
So  you  thought  to  knock  a  hole  in  my  skull,  as  you  have  done 
to  many  a  better  man  than  yourself.  He  is  a  lucky  man  who 
never  meets  his  match.  Dirk.  I  shall  give  your  love  to  the 
Enchanted  Prince,  my  faithful  serving-man,  whom  they  call 
Martin  Lightfoot. 

Dirk  cursed  the  day  he  was  born.  Instead  of  the  mare  and 
colt,  he  had  got  the  two  wretched  garrons  which  the  stranger 
had  left,  and  a  face  which  made  him  so  tender  of  his  own  teeth, 
that  he  never  again  offered  to  try  a  buffet  with  a  stranger. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

HOW  HEREWARD   RODE  INTO   BRUGES   LIKE  A   BEGGAR-MAN. 

The  spring  and  summer  had  passed,  and  the  autumn  was 
almost  over,  when  great  news  came  to  the  Court  of  Bruges, 
where  Torfrida  was  now  a  bower-maiden. 

The  Hollanders  had  been  beaten  till  they  submitted ;  at  least 
for  the  present.  Tliere  was  peace,  at  least  for  the  present, 
through  all  the  isles  of  Scheldt ;  and  more  than  all,  the  lovely 
Countess  Gertrude  had  resolved  to  reward  her  Champion  by 
giving  him  her  hand,  and  the  guardianship  of  her  lands  and  the 
infant  son. 

And  Hereward  ? 

From  him,  or  of  him,  there  was  no  word.  That  he  was  alive 
and  fighting,  was  all  the  messenger  could  say. 

Then  Robert  came  back  to  Bruges,  with  a  gallant  retinue, 
leading  home  his  bride.  And  there  met  him  his  father  and 
mother,  and  his  brother  of  Mons,  and  Richilda  the  beautiful  and 
terrible  sorceress,  —  who  had  not  yet  stained  her  soul  with  those 
fearful  crimes  which  she  had  expiated  by  fearful  penances  in 
after  years,  when  young  Arnoul,  the  son  for  whom  she  had  sold 
her  soul,  lay  dead  through  the  very  crimes  by  which  she  had 
meant  to  make  him  a  mighty  prince.  And  Torfrida  went  out 
with  them  to  meet  Count  Robert,  and  looked  for  Hereward,  till 
her  eyes  were  ready  to  fall  out  of  her  head.  But  Hereward  was 
not  with  them. 

"  He  must  be  left  behind,  commanding  the  ai-my,"  thought  she. 
"  But  he  might  have  sent  one  word  !  " 

There  was  a  great  feast  that  day,  of  course  ;  and  Torfrida  sat 
thereat :  but  she  could  not  eat.  Nevertheless  she  was  too  proud 
to  let  the  knights  know  what  was  in  her  heart ;  so  she  chatted 
and  laughed  as  gayly  as  the  rest,  watching  always  for  any  word 
of  Hereward.     But  none  mentioned  his  name. 

The  feast  was  long  ;  the  ladies  did  not  rise  till  nigh  bedtime  ; 
and  then  the  men  drank  on. 

They  went  up  to  the  Queen-Countess's  chamber  ;  where  a  sol- 
emn undi-essing  of  that  royal  lady  usually  took  place. 

The  etiquette  was  this.     The  Queen-Countess  sat  in  her  chair 


134      HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

of  state  in  the  midst,  till  her  shoes  were  taken  off,  and  her  hair 
dressed  for  the  night.  Right  and  left  of  her,  according  to  their 
degrees,  sat  the  other  great  ladies ;  and  behind  each  of  them, 
where  they  could  find  place:?,  the  maidens. 

It  was  Torfi-ida's  turn  to  take  off  the  royal  shoes ;  and  she 
advanced  into  the  middle  of  the  semicircle,  slippers  in  hand. 

"  Stop  there  !  "  said  the  Countess-Queen. 

Whereat  Torfrida  stopped,  very  much  frightened.     . 

"  Countesses  and  ladies,"  said  the  mistress.  "  There  are,  in 
Provence  and  the  South,  what  I  wish  there  were  here  in  Flan- 
ders, —  Courts  of  Love,  at  which  all  offenders  against  the  sacred 
laws  of  Venus  and  Cupid  are  tried  by  an  assembly  of  their  peers, 
and  punished  according  to  their  deserts." 

Torfrida  turned  scarlet. 

"  I  know  not  why  we,  countesses  and  ladies,  should  have  less 
knowledge  of  the  laws  of  love  than  those  gayer  dames  of  the 
South,  whose  blood  runs  —  to  judge  by  her  dark  hair  —  in  the 
veins  of  yon  fair  maid." 

There  was  a  silence.  Torfrida  was  the  most  beautiful  woman 
in  the  room ;  more  beautiful  than  even  Richilda  the  terrible : 
and  therefore  there  were  few  but  were  glad  to  see  her  —  as  it 
seemed  —  in  trouble. 

Torfrida's  mother  began  whimpering,  and  praying  to  six  or 
seven  stiints  at  once.  But  nobody  mjirked  her,  —  possibly  not 
even  the  saints ;   being  preoccupied  with  Torfrida. 

"  I  hear,  fair  maid,  —  for  that  you  are  that  I  will  do  you  the 
justice  to  confess,  —  that  you  are  old  enough  to  be  married  this 
four  years  since." 

Torfrida  stood  like  a  stone,  frightened  out  of  her  wits,  plentiful 
as  they  were. 

"  Why  are  you  not  married  ?  " 

There  was,  of  course,  no  answer. 

"  I  hear  that  knights  have  fought  for  you  ;  lost  their  lives  for 

you." 

"  I  did  not  bid  them,"  gasped  Torfrida,  longing  that  the  floor 
would  open,  and  swallow  up  the  Queen-Countess  and  all  her  kin 
and  followers,  as  it  did  for  the  enemies  of  the  blessed  Saint 
Dunstan,  while  he  was  arguing  with  them  in  an  upper  room  at 
Calne. 

"  And  that  the  knight  of  St.  Valeri,  to  whom  you  gave  your 
favor,  now  lies  languishing  of  wounds  got  in  your  cause." 

"I  —  I  did  not  bid  him  fight,"  gasped  Torfrida,  now  wishing 
that  the  floor  would  open  and  swallow  up  herself. 

"  And  that  he  who  overthrew  the  knight  of  St.  Valeri,  —  to 
whom  you  gave  that  favor,  and  more  — " 


HEREWARD,   THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH.  135 

"  I  gave  him  nothing  a  maiden  might  not  give,"  cried  Torfrida, 
BO  fiercely  that  the  Queen-Counte.-^s  recoiled  somewhat. 

"  I  never  said  that  you  did,  girl.  Your  love  you  gave  him. 
Can  you  deny  that  ?  " 

Torfrida  laughed  bitterly :  her  Southern  blood  was  rising. 

"  I  put  my  love  out  to  nurse,  instead  of  weaning  it,  as  many  a 
maiden  has  done  before  me.  When  ray  love  cried  for  hunger 
and  cold,  I  took  it  back  again  to  my  own  bosom :  and  whether  it 
has  lived  or  died  there,  is  no  one's  matter  but  my  own." 

"  Hunger  and  cold  ?  I  hear  that  him  to  whom  you  gave  your 
love  you  drove  out  to  the  cold,  bidding  him  go  fight  in  his  bare 
shirt,  if  he  wished  to  win  your  love." 

"I  did  not.  He  angered  me  —  he  — "  and  Torfrida  found 
herself  in  the  act  of  accusing  Hereward. 

She  stopped  instantly. 

"  What  more.  Majesty  ?  If  this  be  true,  what  more  may  not 
be  true  of  such  a  one  as  I  ?  I  submit  myself  to  your  royal 
grace." 

"  She  has  confessed.  What  punishment,  ladies,  does  she  de- 
serve ?  Or,  rather,  what  punishment  would  her  cousins  of  Pro- 
vence inflict,  did  we  send  her  southward,  to  be  judged  by  their 
Courts  of  Love  ?  " 

One  lady  said  one  thing,  one  another.  Some  spoke  cruelly, 
some  woise  than  cruelly ;  for  they  were  coarse  ages,  the  ages  of 
faith ;  and  ladies  said  things  then  in  open  company  which  gentle- 
men would  be  ashamed  to  say  in  private  now. 

"  Marry  her  to  a  fool,"  said  Richilda,  at  last,  bitterly. 

"  That  is  too  common  a  misfortune,"  answered  the  lady  of 
France.  "  If  we  did  no  more  to  her,  she  might  grow  as  proud 
as  her  betters." 

Adela  knew  that  her  daughter-in-law  considered  her  husband 
a  fool ;  and  was  somewhat  of  the  same  opinion,  though  she  hated 
Richilda. 

''  No,"  said  she ;  "  we  -will  do  more.  We  will  marry  her  to  the 
first  man  who  enters  the  castle." 

Torfrida  looked  at  her  mistress  to  see  if  she  were  mad.  But 
the  Countess-Queen  was  serene  and  sane.  Then  Torfrida's  south- 
ern heat  and  northern  courage  burst  forth. 

"  You  —  marry  —  me  —  to  —  "  said  she,  slowly,  with  eyes  so 
fierce,  and  lips  so  vivid,  that  Richilda  herself  quailed. 

There  was  a  noise  of  shouting  and  laughing  in  the  court  below, 
which  made  all  turn  and  listen. 

The  next  moment  a  serving-man  came  in,  puzzled  and  inclined 
to  laugh. 

"  May  it  please  your  Majesty,  here  is  the  strangest  adventure. 


136  HEREWARD,   THE   LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH. 

Thei-e  is  ridden  into  the  castle-yard  a  beggar-man,  with  scarce  a 
shirt  to  his  back,  on  a  great  ugly  mare,  with  a  foal  running  by 
her,  and  a  fool  behind  him,  carrying  lance  and  shield.  And  he 
says  that  lie  is  come  to  fight  any  knight  of  the  Court,  ragged  as 
he"  stands,  for  the  fairest  lady  in  the  Court,  be  she  who  she  may, 
if  she  have  not  a  wedded  husband  already." 

"  And  what  says  my  Lord  Marquis  ?  " 

"  That  it  is  a  fair  challenge,  and  a  good  adventure ;  and  that 
fight  he  shall,  if  any  man  will  answer  his  defiance." 

"  And  I  say,  tell  my  Lord  the  Marquis,  that  fight  he  shall  not : 
for  he  shall  have  the  fairest  maiden  in  this  Court  for  the  trouble 
of  carrying  her  away;  and  that  I,  Adela  of  France,  will  give 
her  to  him.  So  let  that  beggar  dismount,  and  be  brought  up 
hither  to  me." 

There  was  silence  again.  Torfrida  looked  round  her  once 
more,  to  see  whether  or  not  she  was  dreaming,  and  whether 
there  was  one  human  being  to  whom  she  could  appeal.  Her 
mother  sat  praying  and  weeping  in  a  corner.  Torfrida  looked  at 
her  with  one  glance  of  scorn,  which  she  confessed  and  repented, 
with  bitter  tears,  many  a  year  after,  in  a  foreign  land ;  and  then 
turned  to  bay  with  the  spirit  of  her  old  Paladin  ancestor,  who 
choked  the  'Emir  at  Mont  Majeur. 

Married  to  a  beggar !  It  was  a  strange  accident ;  and  an 
ugly  one  ;  and  a  great  cruelty  and  wrong.  But  it  was  not  im- 
possible, hardly  improbable,  in  days  when  the  caprice  of  the 
strong  created  accidents,  and  when  cruelty  and  wrong  went  for 
nothing,  even  with  very  kindly  honest  folk.  So  Torfrida  faced 
the  danger,  as  she  would  have  faced  that  of  a  kicking  horse,  or 
a  flooded  ford ;  and  like  the  nut-brown  bride, 

"  She  pulled  out  a  little  penknife, 
That  was  both  keen  and  sharp," 

and  considered  that  the  beggar-man  could  wear  no  armor,  and 
that  she  wore  none  either.  For  if  she  succeeded  in  slaying  that 
beggar-man,  she  might  need  to  slay  herself  after,  to  avoid  being  — 
according  to  the  fashion  of  those  days  —  burnt  alive. 

So  when  the  arras  was  drawn  back,  and  that  beggar-man  came 
into  the  room,  instead  of  shrieking,  fainting,  hiding,  or  turning, 
she  made  three  steps  straight  toward  him,  looking  him  in  the  face 
like  a  wild-cat  at  bay.  Then  she  threw  up  her  arms  ;  and  fell 
upon  his  neck. 

It  was  Hereward  himself.     Filthy,  ragged  :  but  Hereward. 

His  shirt  was  brown  with  gore,  and  torn  with  wounds  ;  and 
through  its  rents  showed  more  than  one  hardly  healed  scar.  His 
hair  and  beard  was  all  in  elf-locks  ;  and  one  heavy  cut  across  the 


HEREWARD,   THE   LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH.  137 

head  had  shorn  not  onl)'^  hair,  but  brain-pan,  very  close.     More- 
over, any  nose,  save  that  of  Love,  might  have  required  perfume. 

But  Hereward  it  was  ;  and  regardless  of  all  beholders,  she  lay 
upon  his  neck,  and  never  stirred  nor  spoke. 

"  I  call  you  to  witness,  ladies,"  cried  the  Queen-Countess,^ 
"  that  I  am  guiltless.  She  has  given  herself  to  this  beggar-man 
of  her  own  free  will.  What  say  you  ?  "  And  she  turned  to  Tor- 
frida's  mother. 

Torfrida's  mother  only  prayed  and  whimpered. 

"  Countesses  and  Ladies,"  said  the  Queen-Countess,  "  there 
will  be  two  weddings  to-morrow.  The  first  will  be  that  of  my 
son  Robert  and  my  pretty  Lady  Gertrude  here.  The  second 
■will  be  that  of  my  pretty  Torfrida  and  Hereward." 

"  And  the  second  bride,"  said  the  Countess  Gertrude,  rising 
and  taking  Torfrida  in  her  arras,  "  will  be  ten  times  prettier 
than  the  first.  There,  sir,  I  have  done  all  you  asked  of  me. 
Now  go  and  wash  yourself." 

****** 

"  Hereward,"  said  Torfrida,  a  week  after,  "  and  did  you  really 
never  change  your  shirt  all  that  time  ?  " 

"  Never.     I  kept  my  promise." 

"  But  it  must  have  been  very  nasty." 

"  Well,  I  bathed  now  and  then." 

"  But  it  must  have  been  very  cold." 

"  I  am  warm  enough  now." 

"  But  did  you  never  comb  your  hair,  neither  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  won't  say  that.  Travellers  find  strange  bed-fellows. 
But  I  had  half  a  mind  never  to  do  it  at  all,  just  to  spite  you." 

"  And  what  matter  would  it  have  been  to  me  ?  " 

"  O,  none.  It  is  only  a  Danish  fashion  we  have  of  keeping 
clean." 

*'  Clean  !  You  were  dirty  enough  when  you  came  home.  How 
silly  you  were  !     If  you  had  sent  me  but  one  word  !  " 

"  You  would  have  fancied  me  beaten,  and  scolded  me  all  over 
again.     I  know  your  ways  now,  Torfrida." 


CHAPTER    XV. 

HOW  EARL  TOSTI  GODWINSSON  CAME  TO  ST.  OMER. 

The  winter  passed  in  sweet  madness ;  and  for  the  first  time  in 
her  hfe,  Tortrida  regretted  the  lengthening  of  the  days,  and  tlie 
flowering  of  the  primroses,  and  the  return  of  the  now  needless 
wryneck  ;  for  they  warned  her  that  Here  ward  must  forth  again, 
to  the  wars  in  Scaldmariland,  which  had  broken  out  again,  as 
was  to  be  expected,  as  soon  as  Count  Robert  and  his  bride  had 
turned  their  backs. 

And  Hereward,  likewise,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  was  loath 
to  go  to  war.  He  was,  doubtless,  rich  enough  in  this  world's 
goods.  Torfrida  herself  was  rich,  and  seems  to  have  had  the  dis- 
posal of  her  own  property,  for  her  mother  is  not  mentioned  iu 
connection  therewith.  Hereward  seems  to  have  dwelt  in  her 
house  at  St.  Omer  as  long  as  he  remained  in  Flanders.  He  hud 
probably  amassed  some  treasure  of  his  own  by  the  simple,  but 
then  most  aristocratic,  method  of  plunder.  He  had,  too,  probably, 
grants  of  land  in  Holland  from  the  Frison,  the  rents  whereof  were 
not  paid  as  regularly  as  might  be.  Moreover,  as  "  Magister  Mill- 
tum"  "  Master  of  the  Knights,"  he  had,  it  is  likely,  pay  as  well 
as  honor.  And  he  approved  himself  worthy  of  his  good  fortune. 
He  kept  forty  gallant  housecarles  in  his  hall  all  the  winter,  and 
Torfrida  and  her  lasses  made  and  mended  their  clothes.  He  gave, 
large  gifts  to  the  Abbey  of  St.  Bertin  ;  and  had  masses  sung  for 
the  souls  of  all  whom  he  had  slain,  according  to  a  rough  list  whirli 
he  furnished,  —  bidding  the  monks  not  to  be  chary  of  two  or  thre>} 
masses  extra  at  times,  as  his  memory  was  short,  and  he  might 
have  sent  more  souls  to  purgatory  than  he  had  recollected,  lie 
gave  great  alms  at  his  door  to  all  the  poor.  He  befriended, 
-^i^pecially,  all  shipwrecked  and  needy  mariners,  feeding  and 
clothing  thi^m,  and  begging  their  freedom  as  a  gift  from  Baldwin. 
He  feasted  the  knights  of  the  neighborhood,  who  since  his  Bare- 
sark campaign,  had  all  vowed  him  the  most  gallant  of  warriors, 
and  since  his  accession  of  wealtli,  the  most  courreous  of  gentle- 
men ;  and  so  all  went  merrily,  as  it  is  written,  "  As  long  as  thou 
doost  well  unto  thyself,  men  will  speak  well  of  thee." 

So  he  would  have  fain  stayed  at  home  at  St.  Omer;  but  he 


< 


HERE  WARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  139 

was  Robert's  man,  and  his  good  friend  likewise ;  and  to  the  wars 
he  must  go  forth  once  more  ;  and  for  eight  or  nine  weary  months 
Torfrida  was  alone :  but  very  happy,  for  a  certain  reason  of  her 
own. 

At  last  the  short  November  days  came  round ;  and  a  joyful 
■woman  was  fair  Torfrida,  when  Martin  LigKtfoot  ran  into  the 
hall,  and  throwing  himself  down  on  the  rushes  like  a  dog,  an- 
nounced that  Hereward  and  his  men  would  be  home  before  noon, 
and  then  fell  fast  asleep. 

There  was  bustling  to  and  fro  of  her  and  her  maids ;  decking 
of  the  hall  in  the  best  hangings ;  strewing  of  fresh  rushes,  to  the 
dislodgement  of  Martin ;  setting  out  of  square  tables,  and  stoops 
and  mugs  thereon ;  cooking  of  victuals,  broaching  of  casks ;  and 
above  all,  for  Hereward's  self,  heating  of  much  water,  and  setting 
out,  in  the  inner  chamber,  of  the  great  bath-tub  and  bath-sheet, 
which  was  the  special  delight  of  a  hero  fresh  from  the  war. 

And  by  midday  the  streets  of  St.  Omer  rang  with  clank  and 
tramp  and  trumpet-blare,  and  in  marched  Hereward  and  all  his 
men,  and  swung  round  through  the  gateway  into  the  court,  where 
Torfrida  stood  to  welcome  them,  as  fair  as  day,  a  silver  stirrup- 
cup  in  her  hand.  And  while  the  men  were  taking  off  their  har- 
ness and  dressing  their  horses,  she  and  Hereward  went  in  togeth- 
er, and  either  took  such  joy  of  the  other,  that  a  year's  parting 
was  forgot  in  a  minute's  meeting. 

"  Now,"  cried  she,  in  a  tone  half  of  triumph,  half  of  tenderness, 
"look  there!" 

"A  cradle?     And  a  baby?" 

*'  Your  baby." 

"  Is  it  a  boy  ?  "  asked  Hereward,  who  saw  in  his  mind's  eye  a 
thing  which  would  grow  and  broaden  at  his  knee  year  by  year, 
and  learn  from  him  to  ride,  to  shoot,  to  fight.  ''  Happy  for  him 
if  he  does  not  learn  worse  from  me,"  thought  Hereward,  with  a 
sudden  movement  of  humility  and  contrition,  which  was  surely 
marked  in  heaven  ;  for  Torfrida  marked  it  on  earth. 

But  she  mistook  its  meaning. 

"  Do  not  be  vexed.     It  is  a  girl." 

"  Never  mind ! "  as  if  it  was  a  calamity  over  which  he  was 
bound  to  comfort  the  mother.     "  If  she  is   half  as  beautiful  as*^ 
you  look  at  this  moment,  what  splintering  of  lances  there  will  be 
about  her!     How  jolly,  to  see  the  lads   hewing  at  each  other, 
while  our  daughter  sits  in  the  pavilion,  as  Queen  of  Love  !  " 

Torfrida  laughed.  "  You  think  of  nothing  but  fighting,  bear 
of  tiie  North  Seas." 

"  Every  one  to  his  trade.  Well,  yes,  I  am  glad  that  it  is  a 
girl." 


140  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

"I  thought  you  seemed  vexed.  Why  did  you  cross  youi- 
self?" 

"  Because  I  thought  to  myself,  how  unfit  I  was  to  bring  up  a 
boy  to  be  such  a  knight  as  —  as  you  would  have  him ;  how 
likely  I  was,  ere  all  was  over,  to  make  him  as  great  a  ruffian  as 
myself." 

"  Hereward  !  Hereward  !  "  and  she  threw  her  arms  round  his 
neck  for  the  tenth  time.  "  Blessed  be  you  for  those  words  !  Those 
are  the  fears  which  never  come  true,  for  they  bring  down  from 
heaven  the  grace  of  God,  to  guard  the  humble  and  contrite  heart 
from  that  which  it  fears." 

"  Ah,  Torfrida,  I  wish  I  were  as  good  as  you  ! " 

"  Now  —  my  joy  and  my  life,  my  hero  and  my  skald  — 'I  have 
great  news  for  you,  as  well  as  a  little  baby.  News  from  Eng- 
land." 

"  You,  and  a  baby  over  and  above,  are  worth  all  England  to 
me." 

"  But  listen  :  Edward  the  king  is  dead ! " 

"  Then  there  is  one  fool  less  on  earth ;  and  one  saint  more,  I 
suppose,  in  heaven." 

"  And  Harold  Godwins-on  is  king  in  his  stead.  And  he  has 
married  your  niece  Aldytha,  and  sworn  friendship  with  her  broth- 
ers." 

"  I  expected  no  less.     Well,  every  dog  has  his  day." 

"  And  his  will  be  a  short  one.  William  of  Normandy  has 
sworn  to  drive  him  out." 

"  Then  he  will  do  it.  And  so  the  poor  little  Swan-neck  is 
packed  into  a  convent,  that  the  houses  of  Godwin  and  Leofric 
may  rush  into  each  other's  arms,  and  perish  together !  Fools, 
fools,  fools  !  I  will  hear  no  more  of  such  a  mad  world.  My 
queen,  tell  me  about  your  sweet  self.  What  is  all  this  to  me  ? 
Am  I  not  a  wolf's  head,  and  a  landless  man  ?  " 

"  O  my  king,  have  not  the  stars  told  me  that  you  will  be  an 
earl  and  a  ruler  of  men,  when  all  your  foes  are  wolves'  heads  as 
you  are  now  ?  And  the  weird  is  coming  true  already.  Toati 
Godwinsson  is  in  the  town  at  this  moment,  an  outlaw  and  a 
wolf's  head  himself." 
■•   Hereward  laughed  a  great  laugh. 

"  Aha !  Every  man  to  his  right  place  at  last.  Tell  me  about 
that,  for  it  will  amuse  me.  I  have  heard  naught  of  him  since 
he  sent  the  king  his  Hereford  thralls'  arras  and  legs  in  the  pickle- 
barrels  ;  to  show  him,  he  said,  that  there  was  plenty  of  cold  meat 
on  his  royal  demesnes." 

"  You  have  not  heard,  then,  how  he  murdered  in  his  own 
chamber  at  York,  Gamel  Ormsson  and  Ulf  Dolfiasson  ?  " 


HEEEWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       141 

"  That  poor  little  lad  ?  Well,  a  gracious  youth  was  Tosti,  ever 
since  he  went  to  kill  his  brother  Harold  with  teeth  and  claws, 
like  a  wolf;  and  as  he  grows  in  years,  he  grows  in  grace.  But 
what  said  Ull's  lather  and  the  Gospatricks  ?" 

"  Dolfin  and  young  Gospatrick  were  I  know  not  where.  But 
old  Gospatrick  came  down  to  Westminster,  to  demand  law  for  his 
grandnephew's  blood." 

"  A  silly  thing  of  the  old  Thane,  to  walk  into  the  wolf 's  den." 

"  And  so  he  found.  He  was  stabbed  there,  three  days  after 
Cliristmas-tide,  and  men  say  that  Queen  Edith  did  it,  for  love  of 
Tosti,  her  brother.  Then  Dolfin  and  young  Gospatrick  took  to 
the  sea,  and  away  to  Scotland  :  and  so  Tosti  rid  himself  of  all 
the  good  blood  in  the  North,  except  young  Waltheof  Siwardsson, 
whose  turn,  I  fear,  will  come  next." 

"  How  comes  he  here,  then  ?  " 

"  The  Northern  men  rose  at  that,  killed  his  servant  at  York, 
took  all  his  treasures,  and  marched  down  to  Northampton,  plunder- 
ing and  burning.  They  would  have  marched  on  London  town,  if 
Harold  had  not  met  them  there  from- the  king.  There  they  cried 
out  against  Tosti,  and  all  his  taxes,  and  his  murders,  and  his 
changing  Canute's  laws,  and  would  have  young  Morcar  for  their 
earl.  A  tyrant  they  would  not  endure.  Free  they  were  born 
and  bred,  they  said,  and  free  they  would  live  and  die.  Harold 
must  needs  do  justice,  even  on  his  own  brother." 

''  Especially  when  he  knows  that  tliat  brother  is  his  worst  foe." 

"  Harold  is  a  better  man  than  you  take  him  for,  my  Hereward. 
But  be  that  as  it  may,  Morcar  is  earl,  and  Tosti  outlawed,  and 
here  in  St.  Omer,  with  wife  and  child." 

"  iVIy  nephew  Earl  of  Northumbria !  As  I  might  have  been,  if 
I  had  been  a  wiser  man." 

"  If  you  had,  you  would  never  have  found  me." 

"  True,  my  queen  !  They  say  Heaven  tempers  the  wind  to  the 
shorn  lamb ;  but  it  tempers  it  too,  sometimes,  to  the  hobbled  ass ; 
and  so  it  has  done  by  me.  And  so  the  rogues  have  fallen  out, 
and  honest  men  may  come  by  their  own.  For,  as  the  Northern 
men  have  done  by  one  brother,  so  will  the  Eastern  men  do  by  the 
other.  Let  Harold  see  how  many  of  those  fat  Lincolnshire 
manors,  which  he  has  seized  into  his  own  hands,  he  holds  by  this 
day  twelve  months.  But  what  is  all  this  to  me,  my  queen,  while 
you  and  I  can  kiss,  and  laugh  the  world  to  scorn  ?  " 

"  This  to  you,  beloved,  that,  great  as  you  are,  Torfrida  must 
have  you  greater  still ;  and  out  of  all  this  coil  and  confusion 
you  may  win  something,  if  you  be  wise." 

"  Sweet  lips,  be  still,  and  let  us  love  instead  of  plotting." 


142      HEREWAED,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

"  And  this,  too  —  you  shall  not  stop  my  mouth  —  that  Harold 
Godwinsson  has  sent  a  letter  to  you." 

"  Harold  Godwinsson  is  my  very  good  lord,"  sneered  Hereward. 

"  And  this  it  .-^aid,  with  such  praises  and  courtesies  concerning 
you,  as  made  thy  wife's  heart  beat  high  with  pride :  '  If  Here- 
ward Leofricsson  will  come  home  to  England,  he  shall  have  his 
rights  in  law  again,  and  his  manors  in  Lincolnshire,  and  a  thanes- 
ship  in  East  Anglia,  and  manors  for  his  men-at-arms  ;  and  if  that 
be  not  enough,  he  shall  have  an  earldom,  as  soon  as  there  is  one 
to  give.' " 

"  And  what  says  to  that,  Torfrida,  Hereward's  queen  ?  " 

''  You  will  not  be  angry  if  I  answered  the  letter  for  you  ?  " 

"  If  you  answered  it  one  way,  —  no.     If  another,  —  yes." 

Torfrida  trembled.  Then  she  looked  Hereward  full  in  the  face 
with  her  keen  clear  eyes. 

"  Now  shall  I  see  whether  I  have  given  myself  to  Hereward  in 
vain,  body  and  soul,  or  whether  I  have  ti'ained  him  to  be  my  true 
and  perfect  knight." 

"  You  answered,  then,"  said  Hereward,  "  thus  —  " 

"  Say  on,"  said  she,  turning  her  face  away  again. 

"  Hereward  Leofricsson  tells  Harold  Godwinsson  that  he  is 
his  equal,  and  not  his  man ;  and  that  he  will  never  put  his  hands 
between  the  hands  of  a  son  of  Godwin.  An  Etheling  born,  a 
king  of  the  house  of  Cerdic,  outlawed  him  from  his  right,  and 
none  but  an  Etheling  born  shall  give  him  his  right  again." 

"  I  said  it,  I  said  it.  Those  were  my  very  words !  "  and  Tor- 
frida burst  into  tears,  while  Hereward  kissed  her,  almost  fawned 
upon  her,  calling  her  his  queen,  his  saga-wife,  his  guardian  angel. 

"  I  was  sorely  tempted,"  sobbed  she.  "  Sorely.  To  see  you, 
rich  and  proud,  upon  your  own  lands,  an  earl  may  be,  —  may  be, 
I  thought  at  whiles,  a  king.  But  it  could  not  be.  It  did  not 
stand  with  honor,  my  hero,  —  not  with  honor." 

"  Not  with  honor.  Get  me  gay  garments  out  of  the  chest,  and 
let  us  go  in  royally,  and  royally  feast  my  jolly  riders." 

"  Stay  awhile,"  said  she,  kissing  his  head  as  she  combed  and 
curled  his  long  golden  locks  ;  and  her  own  raven  ones,  hardly 
more  beautiful,  fell  over  them  and  mingled  with  them.  "  Stay 
awhile,  my  pride.  There  is  another  spell  in  the  wind,  stirred  up 
by  devil  or  witch-wife,  and  it  comes  from  Tosti  Godwinsson." 

"  Tosti,  the  cold-meat  butcher  ?     What  has  he  to  say  to  me  ?  " 

"This,  —  'If  Hereward  will  come  with  me  to  William  of  Nor- 
mandy, and  help  us  against  Harold,  the  perjured,  then  will  Wil- 
liam do  for  him  all  that  Harold  would  have  done,  and  more 
beside.' " 

"  And  what  answered  Torfrida  ?  " 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  EN'GLISH.  143 

"It  was  not  so  said  to  me  that  I  could  answer.  I  had  it  by  a 
side-wind,  through  the  Countess  Judith."  * 

"  And  she  had  it  from  her  sister,  Matilda." 

"  And  she,  of  course,  fi-om  Duke  AVilliam,  himself." 

"  And  what  would  you  have  answered,  if  you  had  answered, 
pretty  one  ?  " 

"  Nay,  I  know  not.  I  cannot  be  always  queen.  You  must  be 
king  sometimes." 

Torfrida  did  not  say  that  this  latter  offer  had  been  a  much 
sorer  temptation  than  the  former. 

"  And  has  not  the  base-born  Frenchman  enough  knights  of 
his  own,  that  he  needs  the  help  of  an  outlaw  like  me  ? " 

"  He  asks  for  help  from  ail  the  ends  of  the  earth.  He  has 
sent  that  Lanfranc  to  the  Pope  ;  and  there  is  talk  of  a  sacred  ban- 
ner, and  a  crusade  against  England." 

"The  monks  are  with  him,  then?"  said  Hereward.  "That  is 
one  more  count  in  their  score.  But  I  am  no  monk.  I  have  shorn 
many  a  crown,  but  I  have  kept  my  own  hair  as  yet,  you  see." 

"I  do  see,"  said  she,  playing  with  his  locks.  "  But,  —  but  he 
wants  you.  He  has  sent  for  Angevins,  Poitevins,  Bretons, 
Flemings,  —  promising  lands,  rank,  money,  what  not.  Tosti  is 
recruiting  for  him  here  in  Flanders  now.  He  will  soon  be  off  to 
the  Orkneys,  I  suspect,  or  to  Sweyn  in  Denmark,  after  Vik- 
ings." 

"  Here  ?     Has  Baldwin  promised  him  men  ?  " 

"  What  could  the  good  old  man  do  ?  He  could  not  refuse  his 
own  son-in-law.  This,  at  least,  I  know,  that  a  messenger  has 
gone  off  to  Scotland,  to  Gilbert  of  Ghent,  to  bring  or  send  any 
bold  Flemings  who  may  prefer  fat  England  to  lean  Scotland." 

"  Lands,  rank,  money,  eh  ?  So  he  intends  that  tiie  war  should 
pay  itself — out  of  English  purses.  What  answer  would  you 
have  me  make  to  that,  wife  mine  ?  " 

"  The  Duke  is  a  terrible  man.  What  if  he  conquers  ?  And 
conquer  he  will." 

"  Is  that  written  in  your  stars  ?  " 

"  It  is,  I  fear.  And  if  he  have  the  Pope's  blessing,  and  the 
Pope's  banner  —     Dare  we  resist  the  Holy  Father  ?  " 

"  Holy  step-father,  you  mean ;  for  a  step-father  he  seems  to 
prove  to  merry  England.  But  do  you  really  believe  that  an  old 
man  down  in  Italy  can  make  a  bit  of  rag  conquer  by  saying  a 
few  prayers  at  it?  If  I  am  to  believe  in  a  magic  flag,  give  me 
Harold  Hardraade's  Landcyda,  at  least,  with  Harold  and  his 
Norsemen  behind  it." 

*  Tosti's  wife,  Earl  Baldwin's  daughter,  sister  of  Matilda,  William  the  Con- 
queror's wife. 


144  HEEEWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

"  William's  French  are  as  good  as  those  Norsemen,  man  for 
man  ;  and  horsed  withal,  Hereward." 

"  That  may  be,"  said  he,  halt"  testily,  with  a  curse  on  the  tan- 
ner's grandson  and  his  French  popinjays,  "  and  our  Englishmen 
are  as  good  as  any  two  Norsemen,  as  the  Norse  tliem^elves  say." 
He  could  not  divine,  and  TorfVida  hardly  liked  to  explain  to  him 
the  glamour  which  the  Duke  of  Normandy  had  cast  over  her,  as 
the  representative  of  chivalry,  learning,  civilization,  a  new  and 
nobler  life  for  men  than  the  world  had  yet  seen ;  one  which 
seemed  to  connect  the  young  races  of  Europe  with  the  wisdom 
of  the  ancients  and  the  magic  glories  of  old  Imperial  Rome. 

"  You  are  not  fair  to  that  man,"  said  she,  after  a  while.  "  Here- 
ward, Hereward,  have  I  not  told  you  how,  though  body  be  strong, 
mind  is  stronger?  That  is  what  that  man  knows;  and  tberefore 
he  has  pro-pered.  Therefore  his  realms  are  full  of  wise  scholars, 
and  thriving  schools,  and  fair  minsters,  and  his  men  are  sober, 
and  wise,  and  learned  like  clerks  —  " 

"  And  false  like  clerks,  as  he  is  himself.  Schoolcraft  and 
honesty  never  went  yet  together,  Torfrida  — " 

"  Not  in  me  ?  " 

"  You  are  not  a  clerk,  you  are  a  woman,  and  more,  you  are  au 
elf,  a  goddess;  there  is  none  like  you.  But  hearken  to  me. 
This  man  is  false.     All  the  world  knows  it." 

"  He  promises,  they  say,  to  govern  England  justly  as  King 
Edward's  heir,  according  to  the  old  laws  and  liberties  of  the 
realm." 

"  Of  course.  If  he  does  not  come  as  the  old  monk's  heir,  how 
does  he  come  at  all?  If  he  does  not  promise  our  —  their,  I 
mean,  for  I  am  no  Englishman  —  laws  and  liberties,  who  will 
join  him?  But  his  ridei's  and  hirelings  will  not  fight  for  nothing. 
They  must  be  paid  with  English  land,  and  English  land  they  will 
have,  for  they  will  be  his  men,  whoever  else  are  not.  They  will 
be  his  darlings,  his  housecarles,  his  hawks  to  sit  on  his  fist  and  fly 
at  his  game ;  and  English  bones  will  be  picked  clean  to  feed 
them.  And  you  would  have  me  help  to  do  that,  Torfrida?  Is 
that  the  honor  of  which  you  spoke  so  boldly  to  Harold  God- 
winsson  ?  " 

Torfrida  was  silent.  To  have  brought  Hereward  under  the 
influence  of  William  was  an  old  dream  of  hers.  And  yet  she 
was  proud  at  the  dream  being  broken  thus.  And  so  she  said : 
"  You  are  .right.  It  is  better  for  you,  —  it  is  better  than  to  be 
William's  darling,  and  the  greatest  earl  in  his  court,  —  to  feel 
that  you  are  still  an  Englishman.  Promise  me  but  one  thing, 
that  you  will  make  no  fierce  or  desperate  answer  to  the  Duke." 

"  And  why  not  answer  the  tanner  as  he  deserves  ?  " 


HEREWARD,  THE   LAST   OF  THE  PINGLISH.  145 

"  Because  my  art,  and  my  heart  too,  tells  me  that  your  for- 
tunes and  his  are  linked  together.  I  have  studied  my  tables,  but 
they  would  not  answer.     Then  I  cast  lots  in  Virgilius  —  " 

"  And  what  found  you  there  ?  "  asked  he,  anxiously. 

"  I  opened  at  the  lines,  — 

•'  Pacem  me  exanimis  et  Martis  sorte  peremptis 
Gratis?    Equidem  et  vivis  concedere  vellem." 

"  And  what  means  that  ?  " 

"  That  you  may  have  to  pray  him  to  pity  the  slain ;  and  have 
for  answer,  that  their  lands  may  be  yours  if  you  will  but  make 
peace  with  him.  At  least,  do  not  break  hopelessly  with  that 
man.  Above  all,  never  use  that  word  concerning  him  which  you 
used  just  now ;  the  word  which  he  never  forgives.  Remember 
what  he  did  to  them  of  Alen9on,  when  they  hung  raw  hides  over 
the  wall,  and  cried,  '  Plenty  of  work  for  the  tanner ! '  " 

"  Let  him  pick  out  the  prisoners'  eyes,  and  chop  off  their 
hands,  and  shoot  them  into  the  town  from  mangonels,  —  he  must 
go  far  and  thrive  well  ere  I  give  him  a  chance  of  doing  that  by 
me." 

"  Hereward,  Hereward,  my  own !  Boast  not,  but  fear  God. 
Who  knows,  in  such  a  world  as  this,  to  what  end  we  may  come  ? 
Night  after  night  I  am  haunted  with  spectres,  eyeless,  hand- 
less—" 

''  This  is  cold  comfort  for  a  man  just  out  of  hard  fighting  in 
the  ague-fens ! " 

She  threw  her  arms  round  him,  and  held  him  as  if  she  would 
never  let  him  go. 

"  When  you  die,  I  die.  And  you  will  not  die ;  you  will  be 
great  and  glorious,  and  your  name  will  be  sung  by  skald  and  min- 
strel through  many  a  land,  far  and  wide.  Only  be  not  rash. 
Be  not  high-minded.  Promise  me  to  answer  this  man  wisely. 
The  more  crafty  he  is,  the  more  crafty  must  you  be  likewise." 

"  Let  us  tell  this  mighty  hero,  then,"  said  Hereward,  —  trying 
to  laugh  away  her  fears,  and  perhaps  his  own,  —  "  that  while  he 
has  the  Holy  Father  on  his  side,  he  can  need  no  help  from  a  poor 
bini'ul  worm  like  me." 

"  Hereward,  Hereward  !  " 

"  Why,  is  there  aught  about  hides  in  that  ?  " 

"  I  want,  —  I  want  an  answer  which  may  not  cut  off  all  hope 
in  case  of  the  worst." 

"  Then  let  us  say  boldly,  '  On  the  day  that  William  is  King  of 
all  England,  Hereward  will  come  and  put  his  hands  between  his, 
and  be  his  man.'  " 

That  message  was  sent  to  William  at  Rouen,  He  laughed  — 
7  J 


146      HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

"  It  is  a  fair  challenge  from  a  valiant  man.  The  day  shall 
come  when  I  will  claim  it." 

Tosti  and  Hereward  passed  that  winter  in  St.  Oraer,  living  in 
the  same  street,  passing  each  other  day  by  day,  and  never  spoke 
a  word  one  to  the  other. 

Robert  the  Frison  heard  of  it,  and  tried  to  persuade  Hereward. 

"  Let  him  purge  himself  of  the  murder  of  Ulf,  the  boy,  son  of 
my  friend  Dolfin  ;  and  after  that,  of  Gamel,  son  of  Orm ;  and 
after  that,  again,  of  Gospatrick,  ray  father's  friend,  whom  his  sister 
slew  for  his  sake ;  and  then  an  honest  man  may  talk  with  him. 
"Were  he  not  my  good  lord's  brother-in-law,  as  he  is,  more  's  the 
pity,  I  woald  challenge  him  to  fight  a  Voutranee,  with  any  weap- 
ons he  might  choose." 

'•  Heaven  protect  him  in  that  case,"  quoth  Robert  the  Frison. 

"  As  it  is,  I  will  keep  the  peace.  And  I  will  see  that  my  men 
keep  the  peace,  though  there  are  Scarborough  and  Bamborough 
lads  among  them,  who  long  to  cut  his  throat  upon  the  streets. 
But  more  I  will  not  do." 

So  Tosti  sulked  through  the  winter  at  St.  Omer,  and  then 
went  off  to  get  help  from  Sweyn,  of  Denmark,  and  failing  that, 
from  Harold  Hardraade  of  Norway.  But  how  he  sped  there 
must  be  read  in  the  words  of  a  cunninger  saga-man  than  this 
chroniclex",  even  in  those  of  the  "Icelandic  Homer,"  Snorro 
Sturleson. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

HOW  HEREWARD  WAS  ASKED   TO   SLAY   AN   OLD   COMRADE. 

In  those  days  Hereward  went  into  Bruges,  to  Marquis  Bald- 
win, about  his  business.  And  as  he  walked  in  Bruges  street,  he 
met  an  old  friend,  Gilbert  of  Ghent. 

He  had  grown  somewhat  stouter,  and  somewhat  grayer,  in  the 
last  ten  years  :  but  he  was  as  hearty  as  ever ;  and  as  honest,  ac- 
cording to  his  own  notions  of  honesty. 

He  shook  Hereward  by  both  hands,  clapt  him  on  the  back, 
swore  with  many  oaths,  that  he  had  heard  of  his  fame  in  all  lands, 
that  he  always  said  that  he  would  turn  out  a  champion  and  a 
gallant  knight,  and  had  said  it  long  before  he  killed  the  bear. 
As  for  killing  it,  it  was  no  more  than  he  expected,  and  nothing  to 
what  Hereward  had  done  since,  and  would  do  yet. 

Wherefrom  Hereward  opined  that  Gilbert  had  need  of  him. 

They  chatted  on :  Hereward  asking  after  old  friend:^,  and 
sometimes  after  old  foes,  whom  he  had  long  since  forgiven ;  for 
though  he  always  avenged  an  injury,  he  never  bore  malice  for 
one ;  a  distinction  less  common  now  than  then,  when  a  man's 
honor,  as  well  as  his  safety,  depended  on  his  striking  again,  when 
he  was  struck. 

"  And  how  is  little  Alftruda  ?  Big  she  must  be  now  ?  "  asked 
he  at  last. 

"  The  fiend  fly  away  with  her,  —  or  rather,  would  that  he  had 
flown  away  with  her,  before  ever  I  saw  the  troublesome  little 
jade.  Big  ?  She  is  grown  into  the  most  beautiful  lass  that  ever 
was  seen,  —  which  is,  what  a  young  fellow  like  you  cares  for ; 
and  more  trouble  to  me  than  all  my  money,  which  is  what  an  old 
fellow  hke  me  cares  for.  It  is  partly  about  her  that  I  am  over 
here  now.  Fool  that  I  was,  ever  to  let  an  Etheliza  *  into  my 
houjje  "  ;  and  Gilbert  swore  a  great  deal. 

"  How  was  she  an  Etheliza  ? "  asked  Hereward,  who  cared 
nothing  about  the  matter.  "  And  how  came  she  into  your 
house  ?  I  never  could  understand  that,  any  more  than  how  the 
bear  came  there." 

*  A  princess  of  the  royal  blood  of  Cerdic,  and  therefore  of  Edward  the  Con- 
fessor. 


148  HEREWAED,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

"  Ah !  As  to  the  bear,  I  have  my  secrets,  which  I  tell  no 
one.     He  is  dead  and  buried,  thanks  to  you." 

"  And  I  sleep  on  his  skin  every  night." 

"  You  do,  my  little  Champion  ?  Well,  warm  is  the  bed  that 
is  well  earned.  But  as  for  her;  —  see  here,  and  I'll  tell  you. 
Slie  was  Gospatrick's  ward,  and  kinswoman,  —  how,  I  do  not 
rightly  know.  But  this  I  know,  that  she  comes  from  Uchtred, 
the  earl  Avhom  Canute  slew,  and  that  she  is  heir  to  great  estates 
in  Northumberland. 

"  Gospatrick,  that  fought  at  Dunsinane  ?  " 

"  Yes,  not  the  old  Thane,  his  uncle,  whom  Tosti  has  mur- 
dered ;  but  Gospatrick.  King  Malcolm's  cousin,  Dolfin's  father. 
Well,  she  was  his  ward.  He  gave  me  her  to  keep,  for  he 
wanted  her  out  of  harm's  way  —  the  lass  having  a  bonny  dower, 
lands  and  money  —  till  he  could  marry  her  up  to  one  of  his  sons. 
I  took  her ;  of  course  I  was  not  going  to  do  other  men's  work  for 
naught ;  so  I  would  have  married  her  up  to  my  poor  boy,  if  he 
had  but  lived.  But  he  would  not  live,  as  you  know.  Then  I 
would  have  married  her  to  you,  and  made  you  my  heir,  I  tell 
you  honestly,  if  you  had  not  flown  otf,  like  a  hot-headed  young 
springald,  as  you  were  then." 

"  You  were  very  kind.     But  how  is  she  an  Etheliza  ?  " 

"  Etheliza  ?  Twice  over.  Her  father  was  of  high  blood 
among  those  Saxons  ;  and  if  not,  are  not  all  the  Gospatricks  Eth- 
elings  ?  Their  grandmother,  Uchtred's  wife,  was  Ethelred,  Evil- 
Counsel's  daughter.  King  Edward  of  London's  sister ;  and  I  have 
heard  that  this  girl's  grandfather  was  their  son,  —  but  died  young, 
—  or  w^as  killed  with  his  father.     Who  cares  ?  " 

"  Not  I,"  quoth  Hereward. 

"  Well  —  he  wants  to  marry  her  to  Dolfin,  his  eldest  son." 

"  Why,  Dolfin  had  a  wife  when  I  was  at  Dunsinane." 

"  But  she  is  dead  since,  and  young  Ulf,  her  son,  murdered  by 
Tosti  last  winter." 

"  I  know." 

"  Whereon  Gospatrick  sends  to  me  for  the  girl  and  her  dowry. 
What  was  I  to  do  ?  Give  her  up  ?  Little  it  is,  lad,  that  I  ever 
gave  up,  after  I  had  it  once  in  my  grip,  or  I  should  be  a  poorer 
man  than  I  am  now.  Have  and  hold,  is  my  rule.  What  should 
I  do?  What  I  did.  I  was  coming  hither  on  business  of  my  own, 
so  I  put  her  on  board  ship,  and  half  her  dower,  —  where  the 
other  half  is,  I  know  ;  and  man  must  draw  me  with  wild  horses, 
before  he  finds  out ;  —  and  came  hei-e  to  my  kinsman,  Baldwin,  to 
see  if  he  had  any  proper  young  fellow  to  whom  we  might  marry 
the  lass,  and  so  go  shares  in  her  money  and  the  family  connection. 
Could  a  man  do  more  wisely  ?  " 


HEREWARD,  THE   LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH.  149 

*  Impossible,"  quoth  Hereward. 

"  But  see  how  a  wise  man  is  lost  by  fortune.  When  I  come 
here,  whom  should  I  find  but  Dolfin  himself?  The  dog  had  scent 
of  my  plan,  all  the  way  from  Dolfinston  there,  by  Peebles.  He 
hunts  me  out,  the  hungry  Scotch  wolf;  rides  for  Leith,  takes  ship, 
and  is  here  to  meet  me,  having  accused  me  before  Baldwin  as  a 
robber  and  ravisher,  and  offers  to  prove  his  right  to  the  jade  on 
my  body  in  single  combat." 

"  The  villain  !  "  quoth  Hereward.  "  There  is  no  modesty  left 
on  earth,  nor  prudence  either.  To  come  here,  where  he  might 
have  stumbled  on  Tosti,  who  murdered  his  son,  and  I  would 
surely  do  the  like  by  him,  himself.  Lucky  for  him  that  Tosti  ia 
off  to  Norway  on  his  own  errand." 

"  Modesty  and  prudence  ?  None  now-a-days,  young  sire  ;  nor 
justice  either,  I  think  ;  for  when  Baldwin  hears  us  both  —  and  I 
told  my  story  as  cannily  as  I  could  —  he  tells  me  that  he  is  very 
sorry  for  an  old  vassal  and  kinsman,  and  so  forth,  —  but  I  must 
either  disgorge  or  fight." 

"  Then  fight,"  quoth  Hereward. 

"'Per  se  aut  per  campioneem,'  —  that's  the  old  law,  you 
know." 

"  Not  a  doubt  of  it." 

"  Look  you,  Hereward.  I  am  no  coward,  nor  a  clumsy  man 
of  my  hands." 

"  He  is  either  fool  or  liar  who  says  so." 

"  But  see.  I  find  it  hard  work  to  hold  my  own  in  Scotland  now. 
Folks  don't  like  me,  or  trust  me  ;  I  can't  say  why." 

"  How  unreasonable  !  "  quoth  Hereward. 

"  And  if  I  kill  this  youth,  and  so  have  a  blood-feud  with  Gos- 
patrick,  I  have  a  hornet's  nest  about  my  ears.  Not  only  he  and 
his  sons,  —  who  are  masters  of  Scotch  Northumberland,*  —  but 
all  his  cousins  ;  King  Malcolm,  and  Donaldbain,  and,  for  aught  I 
know,  Harold  and  the  Godwinssons,  if  he  bid  them  take  up  the 
quarrel.  And  beside,  that  Dolfin  is  a  big  man.  If  you  cross 
Scot  and  Saxon,  you  breed  a  very  big  man.  If  you  cross  again 
with  a  Dane  or  a  Norseman,  you  breed  a  giant.  His  grandfather 
was  a  Scots  prince,  his  grandmother  an  English  Etheliza,  his 
mother  a  Norse  princess,  as  you  know,  —  and  how  big  he  is,  you 
should  remember.  He  weighs  half  as  much  again  as  I,  and  twice 
as  much  as  you." 

"  Butchers  count  by  vreight,  and  knights  by  courage,"  quoth 
Hereward. 

"  Very  well  for  you,  who  are  young  and  active ;  but  I  take 

*  Between  Tweed  and  Forth. 


150  HERE  WARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

him  to  be  a  better  man  than  that  ogre  of  Cornwall,  whom  they 
say  you  killed." 

"  What  care  I  ?    Let  him  be  twice  as  good,  I  'd  try  him." 

"  Ah  !  I  knew  you  were  the  old  Hereward  still.  Now  hearken 
to  me.  Be  my  champion.  You  owe  me  a  service,  lad.  Fight 
that  man,  challenge  him  in  open  field.  Kill  him,  as  you  are  sure 
to  do.  Claim  the  lass,  and  win  her,  —  and  then  we  will  part  her 
dower.  And  (though  it  is  little  that  I  care  for  young  lasses' 
fancies),  to  tell  you  truth,  she  never  favored  any  man  but  you. 

Hereward  started  at  the  snare  which  had  been  laid  for  him ; 
and   then  fell  into  a  very  great  laughter. 

"  My  most  dear  and  generous  host :  you  are  the  wiser,  the 
older  you  grow.  A  plan  worthy  of  Solomon !  You  are  rid  of 
Sieur  Dolfin  without  any  blame  to  yourself." 

"  Just  so." 

"  While  I  win  the  lass,  and,  living  here  in  Flanders,  am  toler- 
ably safe  from  any  blood-feud  of  the  Gospatricks." 

"  Just  so." 

*'  Perfect :  but  there  is  only  one  small  hinderance  to  the  plan  ; 
and  that  is  —  that  I  ara  married  already." 

Gilbert  stopped  short,  and  swore  a  great  oath. 

"  But,"  he  said,  after  a  while,  "  does  that  matter  so  much 
after  all?" 

"  Very  little,  indeed,  as  all  the  world  knows,  if  one  has  money 
enough,  and  power  enough." 

"  And  you  have  both,"  they  say. 

"  But,  still  more  unhappily,  my  money  is  my  wife's." 

"  Peste ! " 

"  And  more  unhappily  still,  I  am  so  foohshly  fond  of  her,  that 
I  would  sooner  have  her  in  her  smock,  than  any  other  woman 
with  half  England  for  a  dower." 

"  Then  I  suppose  I  must  look  out  for  another  champion." 

"Or  save  yourself  the  trouble,  by  being — just  as  a  cTiange  — 
an  honest  man." 

"  I  believe  you  are  right,"  said  Gilbert,  laughing ;  "  but  it  b 
hard  to  begin  so  late  in  life." 

"  And  after  one  has  had  so  little  practice." 

"  Aha !  Thou  art  the  same  merry  dog  of  a  Hereward. 
Come  along.     But  could  we  not  poison  this  Dolfin,  after  all?" 

To  which  proposal  Hereward  gave  no  encouragement. 

"  And  now,  my  tres  beau  sire,  may  I  ask  you,  in  return,  what 
business  brings  you  to  Flanders  ?  " 

"  Have  I  not  told  you  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I  have  guessed.  Gilbert  of  Ghent  is  on  his  way  to 
William  of  Normandy." 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  151 

«  Well.     Why  not  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  —  certainly.  And  has  brought  out  of  Scotland  a 
few  gallant  gentlemen,  and  stout  housecarles  of  my  acquaintance." 

Gilbert  laughed. 

"You  may  vvell  say  that.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  we  have 
flitted,  bag  and  baggage.  I  don't  believe  that  we  have  left  a 
dog  behind." 

'*  So  you  intend  to  '  colonize '  in  England,  as  the  learned  clerks 
would  call  it  ?  To  settle  ;  to  own  land  ;  and  enter,  like  the  Jews 
of  old,  into  goodly  houses  which  you  builded  not,  farms  which 
you  tilled  not,  wells  which  you  digged  not,  and  orchards  which 
you  planted  not?" 

"  Why,  what  a  clerk  you  are !     That  sounds  like  Scripture." 

•'  And  so  it  is.  I  heard  it  in  a  French  priest's  sermon,  which 
he  preached  here  in  St.  Omer  a  Sunday  or  two  back,  exhorting 
all  good  Catholics,  in  the  Pope's  name,  to  enter  upon  the  barba- 
rous land  of  England,  tainted  with  the  sin  of  Simon  Magus,  and 
expel  thence  the  heretical  priests,  and  so  forth,  promising  them 
that  they  should  have  free  leave  to  cut  long  thongs  out  of  other 
men's  hides." 

Gilbert  chuckled. 

"  You  laugh.  The  priest  did  not ;  for  after  sermon  I  went  up 
to  him,  and  told  him  how  I  was  an  Englishman,  and  an  outlaw, 
and  a  desperate  man,  who  feared  neither  saint  nor  devil ;  and  if 
I  heard  such  talk  as  that  again  in  St.  Omer,  I  would  so  shave 
the  speaker's  crown  that  he  should  never  need  razor  to  his  dying 
day." 

"  And  what  is  that  to  me  ?  "  said  Gilbert,  in  an  uneasy,  half- 
defiant  tone ;  for  Herewai'd's  tone  had  been  more  than  half- 
defiant. 

"  This.  That  there  are  certain  broad  lands  in  England,  which 
were  my  father's,  and  are  now  my  nephews'  and  my  mother's, 
and  some  which  should  by  right  be  mine.  And  I  advise  you,  as 
a  friend,  not  to  make  entry  on  those  lands,  lest  Hereward  in  turn 
make  entry  on  you.  And  who  is  he  that  will  deliver  you  out  of 
my  hand  ?  " 

"  God  and  his  Saints  alone,  thou  fiend  out  of  the  pit ! "  quoth 
Gilbert,  laughing.  But  he  was  growing  warm,  and  began  to 
tutoyer  Hereward. 

"  I  am  in  earnest,  Gilbert  of  Ghent,  my  good  friend  of  old 
time." 

"  I  know  thee  well  enough,  man.  Why  in  the  name  of  all 
glory  and  plunder  art  thou  not  coming  with  us  ?  They  say  Wil- 
liam has  offered  thee  the  earldom  of  Northumberland." 

"  He  has  not.     And  if  he  has,  it  is  not  his  to  give.     And  if  it 


152  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF   THE   ENGLISH, 

were,  it  is  by  right  neither  mine  nor  mv  nephews',  but  Wahheof 
Siwardsson's.  Now  hearken  unto  me  ;  and  settle  it  in  your  mind, 
thou  and  WilHam  botli,  tliat  your  quarrel  is  against  none  but 
Harold  and  the  Godwinssons,  and  their  men  of  Wessex ;  but 
that  if  you  go  to  cross  the  Watling  street,  and  meddle  with  the 
free  Danes,  who  are  none  of  Harold's  men  —  " 

"  Stay.  Harold  has  large  manors  in  Lincolnshire,  and  so  has 
Edith  his  sister ;  and  what  of  them.  Sir  Hereward  ?  " 

"  That  the  man  who  touches  them,  even  though  the  men  on 
them  may  fight  on  Harold's  side,  had  better  have  put  his  head 
into  a  hornet's  nest.  Unjustly  were  they  seized  from  their  true 
owners  by  Harold  and  his  fathers ;  and  the  holders  of  them  will 
owe  no  service  to  him  a  day  longer  than  they  can  help ;  but  will, 
if  he  fall,  demand  an  earl  of  their  own  race,  or  fight  to  the  death." 

"  Best  make  young  Waltheof  earl,  then." 

"  Best  keep  thy  foot  out  of  them,  and  the  foot  of  any  man  for 
whom  thou  carest.  Now,  good  by.  Friends  we  are,  and  friends 
let  us  be." 

"  Ah,  that  thou  wert  coming  to  England  !  " 

"I  bide  my  time.     Come  I  may,  when  I  see  fit.     But  whether, 
I  come  as  friend  or  foe  depends  on  that  of  which  I  have  given 
thee  fair  warning." 

So  they  parted  for  the  time. 

It  will  be  seen  hereafter  how  Gilbert  took  his  own  advice  about 
young  Waltheof,  but  did  not  take  Hereward's  advice  about  the 
Lincoln  manors. 

In  Baldwin's  hall  that  day  Hereward  met  Dolfin  ;  and  when  the 
magnificent  young  Scot  sprang  to  hiin,  embraced  him,  talked  over 
old  passages,  complimented  him  on  his  fame,  lamented  that  he 
himself  had  won  no  such  honors  in  the  field,  Hereward  felt  much 
more  inclined  to  fight  for  him  than  against  him. 

Presently  the  ladies  entered  from  the  bower  inside  the  hall. 
A  buzz  of  expectation  rose  from  all  the  knights,  and  Alftruda's 
name  was  whispered  round. 

She  came  in,  and  Hereward  saw  at  the  first  glance  that  Gilbert 
had  for  once  in  his  life  spoken  truth.  So  beautiful  a  girl  he  had 
never  beheld;  and  as  she  swept  down  toward  him  he  for  one 
moment  forgot  Torfrida,  and  stood  spell-bound  like  the  rest. 

Her  eye  caught  his.  If  his  face  showed  recognition,  hers 
showed  none.  The  remembrance  of  their  early  friendship,  of 
her  deliverance  from  the  monster,  had  plainly  passi^d  away. 

"  Fickle,  ungrateful  things,  these  women,"  thought  Hereward. 

She  passed  him  close.  And  as  she  did  so,  she  turned  her  head 
and  looked  him  full  in  the  face  one  moment,  haughty  and  cold. 

"  So  you  could  not  wait  for  me  ?  "  said  she,  in  a  quiet  whisper, 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       153 

and  went  on  straight  to  Dolfin,  who  stood  trembling  with  ex- 
pectation and  delight. 

She  put  her  hand  into  his. 

"  Here  stands  ray  champion,"  said  she. 

"  Say,  here  kneels  your  slave."  cried  the  Scot,  dropping  to  the 
pavement  a  true  Plighland  knee.  Whereon  forth  shrieked  a 
bagpipe,  and  Dolfin's  minstrel  sang,  in  most  melodious  Gaelic,  — 

"  Strong  as  a  horse's  hock,  shaggy  as  a  stag's  brisket, 
Is  the  knee  of  the  young  torrent-leaper,  the  pride  of  the  house  of  Crinan. 
It  bent  not  to   Macbeth  the  accursed,  it  bends  not  even  to  Malcolm  the 

Anointed, 
But  it  bends  like  a  harebell — who  shall  blame  it? — before  the  breath  of 

beauty." 

Which  magnificent  effusion  being  interpreted  by  Hereward  for 
the  instruction  of  the  ladies,  procured  for  the  red-headed  bard 
more  than  one  handsome  gift. 

A  sturdy  voice  arose  out  of  the  crowd. 

"  The  lair  lady,  my  Lord  Count,  and  knights  all,  will  need  no 
champion  as  far  as  I  am  concerned.  When  one  sees  so  fair  a 
pair  together,  what  can  a  kniglit  say,  in  the  name  of  all  knight- 
hood, but  that  the  heavens  have  made  them  for  each  other,  and 
that  it  were  sin  and  shame  to  sunder  tliera  ?  " 

The  voice  was  that  of  Gilbert  of  Ghent,  who,  making  a  virtue 
of  necessity,  walked  up  to  the  pair,  his  weather-beaten  counte- 
nance wreathed  into  what  were  meant  for  paternal  smiles. 

"  Why  did  you  not  say  as  much  in  Scotland,  and  save  me  all 
this  trouble  ?  "  pertinently  asked  the  plain-spoken  Scot. 

"  My  Lord  Prince,  you  owe  me  a  debt  for  my  caution.  With- 
out it,  the  poor  lady  had  never  known  the  whole  fervency  of 
your  love ;  or  these  noble  knights  and  yourself  the  whole  even- 
ness of  Count  Baldwin's  justice." 

Alftruda  turned  her  head  away  half  contemptuously ;  and  as 
she  did  so,  she  let  her  hand  drop  listlessly  from  Dolfin's  grasp, 
and  drew  back  to  the  other  ladies. 

A  suspicion  crossed  Hereward's  mind.  Did  she  really  love 
the  Prince  ?  Did  those  strange  words  of  hei's  mean  tlj^t  she 
had  not  yet  forgotten  Hereward  himself? 

However,  he  said  to  himself  that  it  was  no  concern  of  his, 
as  it  certainly  was  not :  went  home  to  Torfrida,  told  her  every- 
thing that  had  happened,  laughed  over  it  with  her,  and  then 
forgot  Alftruda,  Dolfin,  and  Gilbert,  in  the  prospect  of  a  great 
campaign  in  Holland. 

7* 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

HOW  HEREWARD   TOOK  THE  NEWS  FROM  STANFORD   BRIGG 
AND   HASTINGS. 

Aftek  that,  news  came  thick  and  fast. 

News  of  all  the  fowl  of  heaven  flocking  to  the  feast  »f  the 
great  God,  that  they  might  eat  the  flesh  of  kings,  and  captains, 
and  mighty  men,  and  horses,  and  them  that  sit  on  them,  and  the 
flesh  of  all  men,  both  bond  and  free. 

News  from  Rome,  how  England,  when  conquered,  was  to  be 
held  as  a  fief  of  St.  Peter,  and  spiritually,  as  well  as  temporarily, 
enslaved.  News  how  the  Gonfanon  of  St.  Peter,  and  a  ring  with 
a  bit  of  St  Peter  himself  enclosed  therein,  had  come  to  Rouen,  to 
go  before  the  Norman  host,  as  the  Ark  went  before  that  of  Israel. 

Then  news  from  the  North.  How  Tosti  had  been  to  Sweyn, 
and  bid  him  come  back  and  win  the  country  again,  as  Canute 
his  uncle  had  dune ;  and  how  the  cautious  Dane  had  answered 
that  he  was  a  much  smaller  man  than  Canute,  and  had  enough 
to  hold  his  own  against  the  Norsemen,  and  could  not  afibrd  to 
throw  for  such  high  stakes  as  his  mighty  uncle. 

Then  how  Tosti  had  been  to  Norway,  to  Harold  Hardraade, 
and  asked  him  why  he  had  been  fighting  fifteen  years  for  Den- 
mark, when  England  lay  open  to  him.  And  how  Harold  of 
Norway  had  agreed  to  come ;  and  how  he  had  levied  one  half 
of  the  able-bodied  men  in  Norway ;  and  how  he  was  gathering 
a  mighty  fleet  at  Solundir,  in  the  mouth  of  the  Sogne  Fiord. 
Of  all  this  Hereward  was  well  informed ;  for  Tosti  came  back 
again  to  St.  Omer,  and  talked  big.  But  Hereward  and  he  had 
no  dealings  with  each  other.  But  at  last,  when  Tosti  tried  to 
entice  some  of  Hereward's  men  to  sail  with  him,  Hereward  sent 
him  word  that  if  he  met  him,  he  would  kill  him  in  the  streets. 

Then  Tosti,  who  (though  he  wanted  not  for  courage)  knew 
that  he  was  no  match  for  Hereward,  went  off"  to  Bruges,  leaving 
his  wife  and  family  behind,  gathered  sixty  ships  at  O^tend,  went 
off  to  the  Isle  of  Wight,  and  forced  the  landsfolk  to  give  him 
money  and  food.  And  then  Harold  of  England's  fleet,  which 
was  watching  the  coast  against  the  Normans,  drove  him  away ; 
and  he  sailed  oflf  north,  full  of  black  rage  against  his  brother 


HERE  WARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  155 

Harold  and  all  Englishmen,  and  burned,  plundered,  and  mur- 
dered, along  the  coast  of  Lincolnshire,  out  of  brute  spite  to  the 
Danes  who  had  expelled  him. 

Then  came  news  how  he  had  got  into  the  Humber ;  how  Eai-1 
Edwin  and  his  Northumbrians  had  driven  him  out ;  and  how  he 
went  oflf  to  Scotland  to  meet  Harold  of  Norway ;  and  how  he 
had  put  his  hands  between  Harold's,  and  become  his  man. 

And  all  the  while  the  Norman  camp  at  St.  Pierre-sur-Dive 
grew  and  grew ;  and  all  was  ready,  if  the  wind  would  but 
change. 

And  90  Hereward  looked  on,  helpless,  and  saw  these  two  great 
storm-clouds  growing,  —  one  from  north,  and  one  from  south,  — 
to  burst  upon  his  native  land. 

Two  invasions  at  the  same  moment  of  time ;  and  these  no 
mere  Viking  raids  for  plunder,  but  deliberate  attempts  at  con- 
quest and  colonization,  by  the  two  mo>t  famous  captains  of  the 
age.  What  if  both  succeeded  ?  What  if  the  two  storm-clouds 
swept  across  England,  each  on  its  own  path,  and  met  in  the  midst, 
to  hurl  their  lightnings  into  each  other  ?  A  fight  between  Wil- 
liam of  Normandy  and  Harold  of  Norway,  on  some  moorland 
in  Mercia,  —  it  would  be  a  battle  of  giants;  a  sight  at  which 
Odin  and  the  Gods  of  Valhalla  would  rise  from  their  seats,  and 
throw  away  the  mead-horn,  to  stare  down  on  the  deeds  of  heroes 
scarcely  less  mighty  than  themselves.  Would  that  neither  might 
win  !  Would  that  they  would  destroy  and  devour,  till  there  was 
none  left  of  Frenchmen  or  of  Norwegians  ! 

So  sung  Hereward,  after  his  heathen  fashion ;  and  his  house- 
carles  applauded  the  song.     But  Torfrida  shuddered. 

"  And  what  will  become  of  the  poor  English  in  the  mean  time?" 

"  They  have  brought  it  on  themselves,"  said  Hereward,  bitterly. 
"  Instead  of  giving  the  crown  to  the  man  who  should  have  had  it, 
—  to  Sweyn  of  Denmark,  —  they  let  Godwin  put  it  on  the  head 
of  a  drivelling  monk ;  and  as  they  sowed,  so  will  they  reap." 

But  Hereward's  own  soul  was  black  within  him.  To  see  these 
mighty  events  passing  as  it  were  within  reach  of  his  hand,  and 
he  unable  to  take  his  share  in  them,  —  for  what  share  could  he 
take  ?  That  of  Tosti  Godwinsson  against  his  own  nephews  ? 
That  of  Harold  Godwinsson,  the  usurper?  That  of  the  tanner's 
grandson  against  any  man  ?  Ah  that  he  had  been  in  England  ! 
Ah  that  he  had  been  where  he  might  have  been,  —  where  he 
ought  to  have  been  but  for  his  own  lolly,  —  high  in  power  in  his 
native  land,  —  perhaps  a  great  earl ;  perhaps  commander  of  all 
the  armies  of  the  Danelagh.  And  bitterly  he  cursed  his  youth- 
ful sins  as  he  rode  to  and  fro  almost  daily  to  the  port  of  Calais, 
asking  for  news,  and  getting  often  only  too  much. 


156  HEEEWAED,  THE   LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH. 

For  now  came  news  that  the  Norsemen  had  landed  in  Humber ; 
that  Edwia  and  Morcar  were  beaten  at  York ;  that  Hardraade 
and  Tosti  were  masters  of  the  North. 

And  with  that,  news  that,  by  the  virtue  of  the  relics  of  St.  Va- 
leri,  which  had  been  brought  out  of  their  shrine  to  frighten  the 
demons  of  the  storm,  and  by  the  intercession  of  the  blessed  >St. 
Michael,  patron  of  Normandy,  the  winds  had  changed,  and  Wil- 
liam's whole  armament  had  crossed  tiie  Channel,  landed  upon 
an  undefended  shore,  and  fortified  themselves  at  Pevensey  and 
Hasting:^. 

And  then  followed  a  fortnight  of  silence  and  torturing  sus- 
pense. 

Hereward  could  hardly  eat,  drink,  sleep,  or  speak.  He  answered 
Torfrida's  consolations  curtly  and  angrily,  till  she  betook  herself 
to  silent  caresses,  as  to  a  sick  animal.  But  she  loved  him  all  the 
better  for  his  suUenness  ;  for  it  showed  that  his  English  heart  was 
wakening  again,  sound  and  strong. 

At  last  news  came.  He  was  down,  as  usual,  at  the  port.  A 
ship  had  just  come  in  from  the  northward.  A  man  just  landed 
stood  on  the  beach  gesticulating,  and  calling  in  an  unknown  tongue 
to  the  bystanders,  who  laughed  at  him,  and  seemed  inclined  to 
miguse  him. 

Hereward  galloped  down  the  beach. 

"  Out  of  the  way,  villains  !     Why  man,  you  are  a  Norseman  !  " 

"  Norseman  am  I,  Elai'l,  Thord  Gunlaugsson  is  my  name,  and 
news  I  bring  for  the  Countess  Judith  (as  the  French  call  her) 
that  shall  turn  her  golden  hair  to  snow,  —  yea,  and  all  fair  lasses' 
hair  from  Lindesness  to  Loffoden  !  " 

"  Is  the  Earl  dead  ?  " 

"  And  Harold  Sigurdsson  !  " 

Hereward  sat  silent,  appalled.  For  Tosti  he  cared  not.  But 
Harold  Sigurdsson,  Harold  Hardraade,  Harold  the  Viking,  Harold 
the  Varanger.  Harold  the  Lion-layer,  Harold  of  Constantinople, 
the  bravest  among  champions,  the  wisest  among  kings,  the  cunning- 
est  among  minstrels,  the  darling  of  the  Vikings  of  the  north ;  the  ■ 
one  man  whom  Hereward  had  taken  for  his  pattern  and  his  ideal, 
the  one  man  under  whose  banner  he  would  have  been  proud 
to  fight  —  the  earth  seemed  empty,  if  Harold  Hardraade  were 
gone. 

"  Thord  Gunlaugsson,"  cried  he,  at  last,  "  or  whatever  be  thy 
name,  if  thou  hast  lied  to  me,  I  will  draw  thee  with  wild  horses." 

"  Would  God  that  I  did  lie  !  I  saw  him  fall  with  an  arrow 
through  his  throat.  Then  Jarl  Tosti  took  the  Land-ravager  and 
held  it  up  till  he  died.  Then  Eystein  Orre  took  it,  coming  up 
hot  from  the  ships.     And  then  he  died  likewise.     Then  they  all 


HEREWAED,   THE   LAST   OF  THE   ENGLISH.  157 

died.  "We  would  take  no  quarter.  We  threw  oflf  our  mail,  and 
fought  baresark,  till  all  were  dead  together."  * 

"  How  earnest  thou,  then,  hither  ?  " 

"  Styrkar  the  marshal  escaped  in  the  night,  and  I  with  him, 
and  a  few  more.  And  Styrkar  bade  me  bring  the  news  to  Flan- 
ders, to  the  Countess,  while  he  took  it  to  Olaf  Ilaroldsson,  who 
lay  off  in  the  ships." 

'•  And  thou  shalt  take  it.  Martin  !  get  this  man  a  horse.  A 
horse,  ye  villains,  and  a  good  one,  on  your  lives  ! " 

"  And  Tosti  is  dead  ?  " 

"  Dead  like  a  hero.  Harold  offered  him  quarter,  —  offered  him 
his  earldom,  they  say  :  even  in  the  midst  of  battle :  but  he  would 
not  take  it.  He  said  he  was  the  Sigurdsson's  man  now,  and  true 
man  he  would  be  !  " 

"  Harold  offered  him  —  what  art  babbling  about?  Who  fought 
you  ?  " 

"  Harold  Godwinsson,  the  king." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  At  Stanford  Brigg,  by  York  Town." 

*'  Harold  Godwinsson  slew  Harold  Sigurdsson  ?  After  this 
wolves  may  eat  lions  !  " 

"  The  Godwinsson  is  a  gallant  fighter,  and  a  wise  general,  or  I 
had  not  been  here  now." 

"  Get  on  thy  horse,  man !  "  said  he,  scornfully  and  impatiently, 
*'  and  gallop,  if  thou  canst." 

"  I  have  ridden  many  a  mile  in  Ireland,  Earl,  and  have  not 
forgotten  my  seat." 

"  Thou  hast,  hast  thou  ?  "  said  Martin ;  "  thou  art  Thord  Gun- 
laugsson  of  Waterford." 

"  That  am  I.     How  knowest  thou  me,  man  ?  " 

"  I  am  of  Waterford.  Thou  hadst  a  slave  lass  once,  I  think  ; 
Mew  :  they  called  her  Mew,  her  skin  it  was  so  white." 

"  What 's  that  to  thee  ?  "  asked  Thord,  turning  on  him  sav- 
agely. 

"  Why,  I  meant  no  harm.  I  saw  her  at  Waterford  when  I 
was  a  boy,  and  thought  her  a  fair  lass  enough,  that  is  all." 

And  Martin  dropped  into  the  rear.  By  this  time  they  were  at 
the  gates  of  St.  Omer. 

As  they  rode  side  by  side,  Hereward  got  more  details  of  the 
fight. 

"  I  knew  it  would  fall  out  so.  I  foretold  it !  "  said  Thord.  "  I 
had  a  dream.  I  saw  us  come  to  Englisii  land,  and  fight ;  .and  1 
saw  the  banners  floating.     And  before  the  English  army  was  a 

*  For  tlie  details  of  this  battle,  see  Skorro  Sturleson,  or  the  admirable  descrip- 
tion in  Bulwer's  "Harold." 


158  HEREWARD,  THE   LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH. 

great  witchwife,  and  rode  upon  a  wolf,  and  he  had  a  corpse  in  his 
bloody  jaws.  And  when  he  had  eaten  one  up,  she  threw  him 
another,  till  he  had  swallowed  all." 

"  Did  she  throw  him  thine  ?  "  asked  Martin,  who  ran  holding 
by  the  stirrup. 

"  That  did  she,  and  eaten  I  saw  myself.  Yet  here  I  am 
alive." 

"  Then  thy  dreams  were  naught." 

"  I  do  not  know  that.     The  wolf  may  have  me  yet." 

"  I  fear  thou  art  fey."  * 

"  What  the  devil  is  it  to  thee  if  I  be  ?  " 

"  Naught.  But  be  comforted.  I  am  a  necromancer ;  and  this 
I  know  by  my  art,  that  the  weapon  that  will  slay  thee  was  never 
forged  in  Flanders  here." 

"  There  was  another  man  had  a  dream,"  said  Thord,  turning 
from  Martin  angrily.  "  He  was  standing  in  the  king's  ship,  and 
he  saw  a  great  witchwife  with  a  fork  and  a  trough  stand  on  the 
island.  And  he  saw  a  fowl  on  every  ship's  stem,  a  raven,  or  else 
an  eagle,  and  he  heard  the  witchwife  sing  an  evil  song." 

By  this  time  they  were  in  St.  Omer. 

Hereward  rode  straight  to  the  Countess  Judith's  house.  He 
never  had  entered  it  yet,  and  was  likely  to  be  attacked  if  he  en- 
tered it  now.  But  when  the  door  was  opened,  he  thrust  in  wiih 
so  earnest  and  sad  a  face  that  tlie  servants  let  him  pass,  but  not 
without  growling  and  motions  as  of  getting  their  weapons. 

"  I  come 'in  peace,  my  men,  I  come  in  peace :  this  is  no  time 
for  brawls.  Where  is  the  sleward,  or  one  of  the  Countess's  la- 
dies ?  Tell  her,  madam,  that  Hereward  waits  her  commands, 
and  entreats  her,  in  the  name  of  Si.  Mary  and  all  Saints,  to 
vouchsafe  him  one  word  in  private." 

The  lady  hurried  into  the  bower.  The  next  moment  Judith 
hurried  out  into  the  hall,  her  fair  face  blanched,  her  fair  eyes 
wide  with  terror. 

Hereward  fell  on  his  knee. 

"  AVhat  is  this  ?     It  must  be  bad  news  if  you  bring  it." 

"  Madam,  the  grave  covers  all  feuds.  Earl  Tosti  was  a  very 
valiant  hero  ;  and  would  to  God  that  we  had  been  friends  !  " 

She  did  not  hear  the  end  of  the  sentence,  but  fell  back  with  a 
shriek  into  the  women's  arms. 

Hereward  told  them  all  that  they  needed  to  know  of  that  frat- 
ricidal strife  ;  and  then  to  Thord  Gunlaugsson,  — 

"  Have  you  any  token  that  this  is  true  ?  Mind  what  I  warned 
you,  if  you  lied  !  " 

"  This  have  I,  Earl  and  ladies,"  and  he  drew  from  his  bosom  a 

*  Prophesying  his  own  death. 


HEREWARD,   THE   LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH.  159 

reliqnary.  "  Ulf  the  marshal  took  this  off  his  neck,  and  bade  me 
give  it  to  none  but  his  lady.  Therefore,  with  your  pardon,  Sir 
Earl,  I  did  not  tdl  you  that  I  had  it,  not  knowing  whether  you 
were  an  honest  man." 

"  Thou  hast  done  well,  and  an  honest  man  thou  shalt  find  me. 
Come  home,  and  I  will  feed  thee  at  my  own  table ;  for  I  have 
been  a  sea-rover  and  a  Viking  myself." 

They  left  the  reliquary  with  tiie  ladies,  and  went. 

"  See  to  this  good  man,  Martin." 

"  That  will  I,  as  the  apple  of  my  eye." 

And  Hereward  went  into  Torfrida's  room. 

"  I  have  news,  news  !  " 

"  So  have  I." 

"  Harold  Hardraade  is  slain,  and  Tosti  too  !  " 

"Where?  how?" 

"  Harold  Godwinsson  slew  them  by  York." 

"  Brother  has  slain  brother  ?  O  God  that  died  on  cross  !  " 
murmuri'd  Torfrida,  "  when  will  men  look  to  thee,  and  have 
mercy  on  their  own  souls  ?  But,  Hereward,  I  have  news,  — • 
news  more  terrible  by  far.  It  came  an  hour  ago.  I  have  been 
dreading  your  coming  back." 

"  Say  on.    If  Harold  Hardraade  is  dead,  no  worse  can  happen." 

"  But  Harold  Godwinsson  is  dead !  " 

"  Dead  !  Who  next  ?  William  of  Normandy  ?  The  world 
seems  coming  to  an  end,  as  the  monks  say  it  will  soon."  * 

"  A  great  battle  has  been  fought  at  a  place  they  call  Heath- 
field." 

"  Close  by  Hastings  ?  Close  to  the  landing-place  ?  Harold 
must  have  flown  thither  back  from  York.  What  a  captain  the 
man  is,  after  all." 

"  Was.  He  is  dead,  and  all  the  Godwinssons,  and  England 
lost." 

If  Torfrida  had  feared  the  effect  of  her  news,  her  heart  was 
lightf^ned  at  once  as  Hereward  answered  haughtily,  — 

"  England  lost  ?  Sussex  is  not  England,  nor  Wessex  either, 
any  more  than  Harold  was  king  thereof.  England  lost  ?  Let 
the  tanner  try  to  cross  the  Watling  street,  and  he  will  find  out 
that  he  has  another  stamp  of  Englishmen  to  deal  with." 

"  Hereward,  Hereward,  do  not  be  unjust  to  the  dead.  Men 
say  —  the  Normans  say  —  that  they  fought  like  heroes." 

"  I  never  doubted  that ;  but  it  makes  me  mad  —  as  it  does  all 
Eastern  and  Northern  men  —  to  hear  these  Wessex  churls  and 
Godwinssons  calling  themselves  all  England." 

*  There  was  a  general  rumor  abroad  tliat  the  end  of  the  world  was  at  hand, 
that  the  "  one  thousand  years  "  of  prophecy  had  expired. 


160       HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

Torfrida  shook  her  head.  To  her,  as  to  mo?t  foreigners,  Wes- 
sex  and  the  southeast  counties  were  England;  the  most  civihzed; 
the  most  Norman  ;  the  seat  of  royalty  ;  having  all  the  prestige  of 
law,  and  order,  and  wealth.  And  she  was  shrewd  enough  to  see, 
that  as  it  was  the  part  of  England  which  had  most  sympathy  with 
Norman  civilization,  it  was  the  very  part  where  the  Norman  could 
most  easily  gain  and  keep  his  hold.  The  event  proved  that  Tor- 
frida was  right :  but  all  she  said  was,  "  It  is  dangerously  near  to 
France,  at  least." 

"  It  is  that.  I  would  sooner  see  100,000  French  north  of  the 
Humber,  than  10,000  in  Kent  and  Sussex,  where  he  can  hurry 
over  supplies  and  men  every  week.  It  is  the  starting-point  for 
him,  if  he  means  to  conquer  England  piecemeal." 

"  And  he  does." 

"  And  he  shall  not ! "  and  Hereward  started  up,  and  walked  to 
and  fro.  "  If  all  the  Godwinssons  be  dead,  there  are  Leofricssons 
left,  I  tru?t,  and  Siward's  kin,  and  the  Gospatricks  in  Northum- 
bi'ia.  Ah  ?  Where  were  my  nephews  in  the  battle  ?  Not  killed 
too,  I  trust  ?  " 

"  They  were  not  in  the  battle." 

"  Not  with  their  new  brotlier-in-law  ?  Much  he  has  gained  by 
throwing  away  the  Swan-neck,  like  a  base  hound  as  he  was,  and 
marrying  my  pretiy  niece.      But  where  were  they  .''  " 

"  No  man  knows  clearly.  They  followed  him  down  as  far  as 
London,  and  then  lingered  about  the  city,  meaning  no  man  can 
tell  what :  but  we  shall  hear  —  and  I  fear  hear  too  much  —  before 
a  week  is  over." 

"  Heavens !  this  is  madness,  indeed.  This  is  the  way  to  be 
eaten  up  one  by  one  !  Neither  to  do  the  thing,  nor  leave  it  alone. 
If  I  had  been  there  !     If  I  had  been  there  —  " 

"  You  would  have  saved  England,  my  hei'o  !  "  and  Torfrida 
believed  her  own  words. 

"  I  don't  say  that.  Besides,  I  say  that  England  is  not  lost. 
But  there  were  but  two  things  to  do :  either  to  have  sent  to  Wil- 
liam at  once,  and  offered  him  the  crown,  if  he  would  but  guarantee 
the  Danish  laws  and  liberties  to  all  north  of  the  Watling  street ; 
and  if  he  would,  fall  on  the  Godwins>ons  themselves,  by  fair 
means  or  foul,  and  send  their  heads  to  AVilliara." 

"  Or  what  ?  " 

"  Or  have  march(;d  down  after  him,  with  every  man  they  could 
muster,  and  thrown  themselves  on  the  Frenchman's  flank  in  the 
battle  ;  or  between  him  and  the  sea,  cutting  him  off  from  France  ; 
or  —  O  that  I  hud  but  been  there,  what  things  could  I  have 
done !  And  now  these  two  wretched  boys  have  fooled  away 
their  only  chance  —  " 


HEREWARD,   THE  LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH.  161 

"  Some  say  that  they  hoped  for  the  crown  themselves. 

"Which?  —  not  both?  Vain  babies!"  And  Hereward  laughed 
bitterly.  "  I  suppose  one  will  murder  the  other  next,  in  order  to 
make  himself  the  stronger  by  being  the  sole  rival  to  the  tanner. 
The  midden  cock,  sole  rival  to  the  eagle !  Boy  Waltheof  will 
set  up  his  claim  next,  I  presume,  as  Siward's  son  ;  and  then  Gos- 
patrick,  as  Ethelred  Evil-Counsel's  great-grandson  ;  and  so  forth, 
and  so  forth,  till  they  all  eat  each  other  up,  and  the  tanner's  grand- 
son eats  the  last.  What  care  I?  Tell  me  about  the  battle,  my 
lady,  if  you  know  aught.  That  is  moi'e  to  my  way  than  their 
statecraft." 

And  Torfrida  told  him  all  she  knew  of  the  great  fight  on  Heath- 
field  Down  —  which  men  call  Senlac  —  and  the  Battle  of  Has- 
tings. And  as  she  told  it  in  her  wild,  eloquent  fashion,  Hereward's 
face  reddened,  and  his  eyes  kindled.  And  when  she  told  of  the 
last  struggle  round  the  Dragon  *  standard  ;  of  Harold's  mighty 
figure  in  the  front  of  all,  hewing  with  his  great  double-headed 
axe,  and  then  rolling  in  gore  and  agony,  an  arrow  in  his  eye ;  of 
the  last  rally  of  the  men  of  Kent ;  of  Gurth,  the  last  defender 
of  the  standard,  falling  by  William's  sword,  the  standard  hurled 
to  the  ground,  and  the  Popi-^h  Gonfanon  planted  in  its  place,  — 
then  Hereward's  eyes,  for  the  first  and  last  time  for  many  a  year, 
were  flushed  with  noble  tears  ;  and  springing  up  he  cried  :  "  Honor 
to  the  Godwinssons  !  Honor  to  the  Southern  men !  Honor  to 
all  true  English  hearts !  Why  was  I  not  there  to  go  with  them 
to  Valhalla?" 

Torfrida  caught  him  round  tlie  neck.  "  Because  you  are  here, 
my  hero,  to  free  your  country  from  her  tyrants,  and  win  yourself 
immortal  fame." 

"  Fool  that  I  am,  I  verily  believe  I  am  crying." 

"  Those  tears,"  said  she,  as  she  kissed  them  away,  "  are  more 
precious  to  Torfrida  than  tlie  spoils  of  a  hundred  fights,  for  they 
tell  me  that  Hereward  still  loves  his  country,  still  honors  virtue, 
even  in  a  foe." 

And  thus  Torfrida  —  whether  from  woman's  sentiment  of  pity, 
or  from  a  woman's  instinctive  aUliorrence  of  villany  and  wrong, 
—  had  become  there  and  then  an  Englishwoman  of  the  English, 
as  she  proved  by  strange  deeds  and  suiferings  for  many  a  year. 

*  I  have  dared  to  differ  from  the  excellent  authorities  who  say  that  the  stand- 
ard was  that  of  "  A  Ficfhtingr  Man  ";  because  the  Bayeux  Tapestry  represents 
the  last  struggle  as  in  front  of  a  Dragon  standard,  which  must  be  —  as  is  to  bo 
expected  —  the  old  standard  of  Wessex,  the  standard  of  English  Royalty.  That 
Harold  had  also  a  "  Fighting  Man  "  standard,  and  that  it  was  sent"  byWilliaui 
to  the  Pope,  there  is  no  reason  to  doubt.  But  if  the  Bayeux  Tapestry  bo  cor- 
rect, the  fury  of  the  tight  for  the  standard  would  be  explained.  It  would  be  a 
fight  for  the  very  symbol  of  King  Edward's  dynasty. 

K 


162  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

"  Where  is  that  Norseman,  Martin  ? "  asked  Hereward  that 
night  ere  he  went  to  bed.  "  I  want  to  hear  more  of  poor  Har- 
draade." 

'•  You  can't  speak  to  him  now,  master.  He  is  sound  asleep 
this  two  hours  ;  and  warm  enough,  I  will  warrant." 

"Where?" 

"  In  the  great  green  bed  with  blue  curtains,  just  above  the 
kitchen." 

"  What  nonsense  is  this  ?  " 

"  The  bed  where  you  and  I  shall  lie  some  day  ;  and  the  kitchen 
which  we  shall  be  sent  down  to,  to  turn  our  own  spits,  unless  we 
mend  our  manners  mightily." 

Hereward  looked  at  the  man.  Madness  glared  in  his  eyes, 
unmistakably. 

"  You  have  killed  him  !  " 

"  And  buried  him,  cheating  the  priests." 

"  Villain  !  "  cried  Hereward,  seizing  him. 

"  Take  your  hands  off  my  throat,  master.  He  was  only  my 
father." 

Hereward  stood  shocked  and  puzzled.  After  all,  the  man  was 
"  No-man's-man,"  and  would  not  be  missed ;  and  Martin  Light 
foot,  letting  alone  his  madness,  was  as  a  third  hand  and  foot  to 
him  all  day  long. 

So  all  he  said  was,  "  I  hope  you  have  buried  him  well  and 
safely  ?  " 

"  You  may  walk  your  bloodhound  over  his  grave,  to-morrow, 
without  finding  him." 

And  where  he  lay,  Hereward  never  knew.  But  from  that 
night  Martin  got  a  trick  of  stroking  and  patting  his  little  axe,  and 
talking  to  it  as  if  it  had  been  aUve. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

HOW  EARL   GODWIN'S  WIDOW   CAME  TO   ST.  OMER. 

It  would  be  vain  to  attempt  even  a  sketch  of  the  reports  which 
came  to  Flanders  from  England  during  the  next  two  years,  or  of 
the  conversation  which  ensued  thereon  between  Baldwin  and  his 
courtiers,  or  Hereward  and  Torfrida.  Two  reports  out  of  three 
were  doubtless  false,  and  two  conversations  out  of  three  founded 
on  those  false  reports. 

It  is  be<t,  therefore,  to  interrupt  the  thread  of  the  story,  by 
some  small  sketch  of  the  state  of  England  after  the  battle  of 
Hastings  ;  that  so  we  may,  at  least,  guess  at  the  tenor  of  Hei'e- 
ward  and  Torfrida's  counsels. 

William  had,  as  yet,  conquered  little  more  than  the  South  of 
England :  hardly,  indeed,  all  that ;  for  Herefordshire,  Worcester- 
shire, and  the  neighboring  parts,  which  had  belonged  to  Sweyn, 
Harold's  brother,  were  still  insecure ;  and  the  noble  old  city  of 
Exeter,  confident  in  her  Roman  walls,  did  not  yield  till  two  years 
after,  in  A.  D.  1068. 

North  of  his  conquered  territory,  Mercia  stretched  almost 
across  England,  from  Chester  to  the  Wash,  governed  by  Edwin 
and  Morcar,  the  two  fair  grandsons  of  Leofiic,  the  great  earl,  and 
sons  of  Alfgar.  Edwin  called  himself  Earl  of  Mercia,  and  held 
the  Danish  burghs.  On  the  extreme  northwest,  the  Roman  city 
of  Chester  was  his  ;  while  on  the  extreme  southeast  (as  Domes- 
day book  testifies),  Morcar  held  large  lands  round  Bourne,  and 
throughout  the  south  of  Lincolnshire,  besides  calling  himself  the 
Earl  of  Northurabria.  The  young  men  seemed  the  darlings  of 
the  half-Danish  northmen.  Chester,  Coventry,  Derby,  Notting- 
ham, Leicester,  Stamford,  a  chain  of  fortified  towns  stretching 
across  England,  were  at  their  command ;  Blethyn,  Prince  of 
North  Wales,  was  their  nephew. 

Northurabria,  likewise,  was  not  yet  in  William's  hands.  In- 
deed, it  was  in  no  man's  hands,  since  the  free  Danes,  north  of  the 
Humber,  had  expelled  Tosti,  Harold's  brother,  putting  Morcar  in 
his  place,  and  helped  that  brother  to  slay  him  at  Stantbrd  Brigg. 
Morcar,  instead  of  residing  in  his  earldom  of  Noi'thumbria.  iuid 
made  one  Oswulf  his  deputy;  but  he  had  rivals  enough.     There 


164       HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

was  Gospatrick,  claiming  through  his  grandfather,  Uchtred,  and 
strong  in  the  protection  of  his  cousin  INIalcolm,  King  of  Scotland  ; 
there  was  young  Waltheof,  "  the  forest  thief,"  who  had  been  bom 
to  Si  ward  Biorn  in  his  old  age,  just  after  the  battle  of  Dunsinane ; 
a  fine  and  gallant  young  man,  destined  to  a  swift  and  sad  end. 

William  sent  to  the  Northumbrians  one  Copsi,  a  Thane  of 
mark  and  worth,  as  his  procurator,  to  expel  Oswulf.  Oswulf 
and  the  land-folk  answered  by  killing  Copsi,  and  doing,  every 
man,  that  which  was  right  in  his  own  eyes. 

William  determined  to  propitiate  the  young  earls.  Perhaps 
he  intended  to  govern  the  centre  j^id  north  of  England  through 
them,  as  feudal  vassals,  and  hoped,  meanwhile,  to  pay  his 
Norman  conquerors  sufficiently  out  of  the  forfeited  lands  of 
Harold,  and  those  who  had  fought  by  his  side  at  Hastings.  It 
was  not  his  policy  to  make  himself,  much  less  to  call  himself,  the 
Conqueror  of  England.  He  claimed  to  be  its  legitimate  sover- 
eign, deriving  from  his  cousin,  Edward  the  Confessor ;  and  who- 
soever would  acknowledge  him  as  such  had  neither  right  nor 
cause  to  fear.  Therefore  he  sent  for  the'  young  earls.  He  court- 
ed Waltheof,  and  more,  really  loved  him.  He  promised  Edwin 
his  daughter  in  marriage.  Some  say  it  was  Constance,  after- 
wards married  to  Alan  Fergant  of  Brittany  ;  but  it  may,  also, 
have  been  the  beautiful  Adelaide,  who,  none  knew  why,  early 
gave  up  the  world,  and  died  in  a  convent.  Be  that  as  it  may, 
the  two  young  people  saw  each,  and  loved  each  other  at  Rouen, 
whither  AVilliam  took  Waltheof,  Edwin,  and  his  brother ;  as  hon- 
ored guests  in  name,  in  reality  as  hostages,  likewise. 

With  the  same  rational  and  prudent  policy,  William  respected 
the  fallen  royal  families,  both  of  Harold  and  of  Edward  ;  at  least, 
he  wan-ed  not  against  women  ;  and  the  wealth  and  influence  of 
the  great  English  ladies  was  enormous.  Edith,  sister  of  Harold, 
and  widow  of  the  Confessor,  lived  in  wealth  and  honor  at  Win- 
chester. Gyda,  Harold's  mother,  retained  Exeter  and  her  land. 
Aldytha,*  or  Elfgiva,  sister  of  Edwin  and  Moi-car,  niece  of  Here- 
ward,  and  widow,  first  of  Griffin  of  Wales,  and  then  of  Harold, 
lived  rich  and  safe  in  Chester.  Godiva,  the  Countess,  owned,  so 
antiquarians  say,  manors  from  Cheshire  to  Lincolnshire,  which 
would  be  now  yearly  worth  the  income  of  a  great  duke.  Agatha, 
the  Hungarian,  widow  of  Edmund  the  outlaw,  dwelt  at  Romsey, 
in  Hampshire,  under  William's  care.  Pier  son,  Edward  Ethe- 
ling,  the  rightful  heir  of  England,  was  treated  by  William  not 
only  with  courtesy,  but  with  affection ;  and  allowed  to  rebel, 
when   he    did   rebel,   with    impunity.     For   the   descendant   of 

*  See  her  history,  told  as  none  other  can  tell  it,  in  Buhver's  "  Harold." 

B 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  165 

Rollo,  the  heathen  Viking,  liad  become  a  civilized,  chivalrous, 
Cliri-stian  knight.  His  mighty  forefather  would  have  split  the 
Etheliiig's  skull  with  his  own  axe.  A  Frank  king  would  have 
shaved  the  young  man's  head,  and  immersed  him  in  a  monastery. 
An  eastern  sultan  would  have  thivst  out  his  eyes,  or  strangled 
him  at  once.  But  William,  however  cruel,  however  unscrupu- 
lous, had  a  knightly  heart,  and  somewhat  of  a  Christian  con- 
science ;  and  his  conduct  to  his  only  lawful  rival  is  a  noble  trait 
amid  many  sina. 

.  So  far  all  went  well,  till  William  went  back  to  France ;  to  be 
likened,  not  as  his  ancestors,  to  the  gods  of  Valhalla,  or  the  bar- 
barous and  destroying  Viking  of  mythic  ages,  but  to  Caesar,  Pom- 
pey,  Ve:^pasian,  and  the  civilized  and  civilizing  heroes  of  classic 
Rome. 

But  while  he  sat  at  the  Easter  feast  at  Fecamp,  displaying  to 
Franks,  Flemings,  and  Bretons,  as  well  as  to  his  own  Normans, 
the  treasures  of  Edward's  palace  at  Westminster,  and  more  Eng- 
lish wealth  than  could  be  found  in  the  whole  estate  of  Gaul ; 
while  he  sat  there  in  his  glory,  with  his  young  dupes,  Edwin, 
Morcar,  and  Waltheof  by  his  side,  having  sent  Harold's  banner 
in  triumph  to  the  Pope,  as  a  token  that  he  had  conquered  the 
Church  as  well  as  the  nation  of  England,  and  having  founded 
abbeys  as  thank-offerings  to  Him  who  had  seemed  to  prosper  him 
in  his  great  crime  :  at  that  very  hour  the  handwriting  was  on  the 
wall,  unseen  by  man ;  and  he  and  his  policy  and  his  race  were 
weighed  in  the  balance,  and  found  wanting. 

For  now  broke  out  in  England  that  wrong-doing,  which  en- 
dured as  long  as  she  was  a  mere  appanage  and  foreign  farm  of 
Norman  kings,  whose  hearts  and  homes  were  across  the  seas  in 
France.  Fitz-Osbern,  and  Odo  the  warrior-prelate,  William's 
halt-brother,  had  been  left  as  his  regents  in  England.  Little  do 
they  seem  to  have  cared  for  William's  promise  to  the  English 
people  that  they  were  to  be  ruled  still  by  the  laws  of  Edward  the 
Confessor,  and  that  where  a  grant  of  land  was  made  to  a  Nor- 
man, he  was  to  hold  it  as  the  Englishman  had  done  before  him, 
with  no  heavier  burdens  on  himself,  but  with  no  heavier  burdens 
on  the  poor  folk  who  tilled  the  land  for  him.  Oppression  began, 
lawlessness,  and  violence  ;  men  were  ill-treated  on  the  highways  ; 
and  women  —  what  was  worse  —  in  their  own  homes;  and  the 
regents  abetted  the  ill-doers.  "It  seems,"  says  a  most  impartial 
historian,*  "as  if  the  Normans,  released  from  all  authority,  all 
restraint,  all  fear  of  retaliation,  determined  to  reduce  the  English 
nation  to  servitude,  and  drive  them  to  despair." 

•  The  late  Sir  F.  Palgrave. 


166      HEREVVARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

In  the  latter  attempt  they  succeeded  but  too  soon  ;  in  the  for- 
mer, they  succeeded  at  last :  but  they  paid  dearly  for  their 
success.  * 

Hot  young  Englishmen  began  to  emigrate.  Some  went  to  the 
court  of  Constantinople,  to  join  the  Varanger  guard,  and  have 
their  chance  of  a  Polotaswarf  like  Harold  Hardraade.  Some 
went  to  Scotland  to  Malcolm  Canmore,  and  brooded  over  return 
and  revenge.  But  Harold's  sons  went  to  their  father's  cousin ; 
to  Sweyn  —  Swend  —  Sweno  Ulfsson,  and  called  on  him  to  come 
and  reconquer  England  in  the  name  of  his  uncle  Canute  the 
Gr(iat ;  and  many  an  Englishman  went  with  them. 

These  things  Gospatrick  watched,  as  earl  (so  far  as  he  could 
make  any  one  obey  him  in  the  utter  subversion  of  all  order)  of 
the  lands  between  Forth  and  Tyne.  And  he  determined  to  Hee, 
ere  evil  befell  him,  to  his  cousin  Malcolm  Canmore,  taking  with 
him  Marlesweyn  of  Lincolnshire,  who  had  fought,  it  is  said,  by 
Harold's  side  at  Hastings,  and  young  Waltheof  of  York.  But, 
moreover,  having  a  head,  and  being  indeed,  as  his  final  success 
showed,  a  man  of  ability  and  courage,  he  determined  on  a  stroke 
of  policy,  which  had  incalculable  after-effects  on  the  history  of 
Scotland.  He  persuaded  Agatha  the  Hungarian,  Margaret  and 
Christina  her  daughters,  and  Edgar  the  Etheling  himself,  to  flee 
with  him  to  Scotland.  How  he  contrived  to  send  them  messages 
to  Romsey,  far  south  in  Hampshire  ;  how  they  contrived  to  es- 
cape to  the  Humber,  and  thence  up  to  the  Forth  ;  this  is  a  ro- 
mance in  itselfi  of  which  the  chroniclers  have  left  hardly  a  hint. 
But  the  thing  was  done  ;  and  at  St.  Margaret's  Hope,  as  tradi- 
tion tells,  the  Scottish  king  met,  and  claimed  as  his  unwilling 
bride,  that  fair  and  holy  maiden  who  was  destined  to  soften  his 
fierce  passions,  to  civihze  and  purity  his  people,  and  to  become  — 
if  all  had  their  just  dues —  the  true  patron  saint  of  Scotland. 

Malcolm  Canmore  promised  a  mighty  army  ;  Sweyn,  a  mighty 
fleet.  And  meanwhile,  Eustace  of  Boulogne,  the  Confessor's 
brother-in-law,  himself  a  Norman,  rebelled  at  the  head  of  the 
down-trodden  men  of  Kent ;  and  the  Welshmen  were  harrying 
Herefordshire  with  fire  and  sword,  in  revenge  for  Norman 
ravages. 

But  as  yet  the  storm  did  not  burst.  William  returned,  and 
with  him  something  like  order.  He  conquered  Exeter ;  he 
destroyed  churches  and  towns  to  make  his  New  Forest.  He 
brought  over  his  Queen  Matilda  with  pomp  and  gi-eat  glory ;  and 
with  her,  the  Bayeux  tapestry  which  she  had  wrought  with  her 
own  hands  ;  and  meanwhile  Sweyn  Ulfsson  was  too  busy  threat- 
ening Olaf  Haroldsson,  the  new  king  of  Norway,  to  sail  for  Eng- 
land ;  and  the  sous  of  King  Harold  of  England  had  to  seek  help 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGMSH.       167 

from  the  Irish  Danes,  and  ravaging  the  country  round  Bristol,  be 
beaten  off  by  the  valiant  burgiiers  with  heavy  loss. 

So  the  storm  did  not  burst ;  and  need  not  have  burst,  it  may 
be,  at  all,  had  William  kept  his  plighted  word.  But  he  would 
not  give  his  fair  daughter  to  Edwin.  His  Norman  nobles,  doubt- 
less, looked  upon  such  an  alliance  as  debasing  to  a  civilized  lady. 
In  their  eyes,  the  Englishman  was  a  barbarian ;  and  though  the 
Norman  might  well  marry  the  Englishwoman,  if  she  had  beauty 
or  wealth,  it  was  a  dangerous  precedent  to  allow  the  Englishman 
to  marry  the  Norman  woman,  and  that  woman  a  princess.  Be- 
side, there  were  those  who  coveted  Edwin's  broad  lands ;  Roger 
de  Montgomery,  who  already  (it  i:^  probable)  held  part  of  them 
as  Earl  of  Shrewsbury,  had  no  wish  to  see  Edwin  the  son-in-law 
of  his  sovereign.  Be  the  cause  what  it  may,  William  faltered, 
and  refused;  and  Edwin  and  Morcar  left  the  Court  of  Westmin- 
ster in  wrath.  Waltlieof  followed  them,  having  discovered  —  what 
he  was  weak  enough  continually  to  forget  again  —  the  treachery 
of  the  Norman.  The  young  earls  went  off,  one  midlandward,  one 
northward.  The  people  saw  their  wrongs  in  those  of  their  earls, 
and  the  rebellion  burst  forth  at  once,  the  Welsh  under  Blethyn, 
and  the  Cumbrians  under  Malcolm  and  Donaldbain,  giving  their 
help  in  the  struggle. 

It  was  the  year  1069.  A  more  evil  year  for  England  than 
even  the  year  of  Hastings. 

The  rebellion  was  crushed  in  a  few  months.  The  great  general 
marched  steadily  north,  taking  the  boroughs  one  by  one,  storm- 
ing, massacring  young  and  old,  burning,  sometimes,  whole  towns, 
and  leaving,  as  he  went  on.  a  new  portent,  a  Norman  donjon  — 
till  then  all  but  unseen  in  England  —  as  a  place  of  safety  for  his 
garrisons.  At  Oxford  (sacked  horribly,  and  all  but  destroyed), 
at  Warwick  (destroyed  utterly),  at  Nottingham,  at  Stafford,  at 
Shrewsbury,  at  Cambridge,  on  the  huge  barrow  which  overhangs 
the  fen  ;  and  at  York  itself,  which  had  opened  its  gates,  trem- 
bling, to  the  great  Norman  strategist ;  at  each  doomed  free  bor- 
ough rose  a  castle,  with  its  tall  square  tower  within,  its  bailey 
around,  and  all  the  appliances  of  that  ancient  Roman  science  of 
fortification,  of  which  the  Danes,  as  well  as  the  Saxons,  knew 
nothing.  Their  struggle  had  only  helped  to  tighten  their  bonds  ; 
and  what  wonder?  There  was  among  them  neither  unity  nor 
plan  nor  governing  mind  and  will.  Hereward's  words  had  come 
true.  The  only  man,  save  Gospatrick,  who  had  a  head  in  Eng- 
land, was  Harold  Godwinsson :  and  he  lay  in  Waltham  Abbey, 
while  the  monks  sang  masses  for  his  soul, 

Edwin,  Morcar,  and  Waltheof  trembled  before  a  genius  su- 
perior to  their  own,  —  a  genius,  indeed,  which  had  not  its  equal 


168  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

then  in  Christendom.  They  came  in  and  begged  grace  of  the 
kins;.  They  got  it.  But  Edwin's  earldom  was  forfeited,  and  he 
jind  his  brother  became,  from  thenceforth,  desperate  men. 

Malcolm  of  Scotland  trembled  likewise,  and  asked  for  peace. 
The  clans,  it  is  said,  rejoiced  tliereat,  having  no  wish  for  a  war 
which  could  buy  them  neither  spoil  nor  land.  Malcolm  sent  am- 
bassadors to  William,  and  took  that  oath  of  fealty  to  the  "  Basileus 
of  Britain,"  which  more  than  one  Scottish  king  and  kinglet  had 
taken  before,  —  with  the  secret  proviso  (which^ during  the  Middle 
Ages,  seems  to  have  been  thoroughly  understood  in  such  cases  by 
both  parlies),  that  he  should  be  William's  man  just  as  long  as 
William  could  compel  him  to  be  so,  and  no  longer. 

Then  came  cruel  and  unjust  confiscations.  Ednoth  the  stand- 
ard-bearer had  fallen  at  Bristol,  fighting  for  William  against  the 
Haroldssons,  yet  all  his  lands  were  given  away  to  Normans.  Ed- 
win and  Morcar's  lands  wei'e  parted  likewise ;  and  —  to  specify 
cases  which  bear  especially  on  the  tiistory  of  Hereward — Oger 
the  Briton  got  many  of  Morcar's  manors  round  Bourne,  and 
Gilbert  of  Ghent  many  belonging  to  Marlesweyn  about  Lincola 
city.  And  so  did  that  valiant  and  crafty  knight  find  his  legs  once 
more  on  other  men's  ground,  and  reappears  in  monkish  story  as 
"  the  most  devout  and  pious  earl,  Gilbert  of  Ghent." 

What  followed,  Hereward  heard  not  from  flying  rumors ;  but 
from  one  who  had  seen  and  known  and  judged  of  all.* 

For  one  day,  about  this  time,  Hereward  was  riding  out  of  the 
gate  of  St.  Omer,  when  the  porter  appealed  to  him.  Begging  for 
admittance  were  some  twenty  women,  and  a  clerk  or  two ;  and 
they  must  needs  see  the  chateluin.  The  chatelain  was  away. 
What  should  he  do  ? 

Hereward  looked  at  the  party,  and  saw,  to  his  surprise,  that 
they  were  Englishwomen,  and  two  of  them  women  of  rank,  to 
judge  from  the  rich  materials  of  their  travel-stained  and  tattered 
garments.  The  ladies  rode  on  sorry  country  garrons,  plainly 
hired  from  the  peasants  who  drove  them.  The  rest  of  the  women 
had  walked ;  and  weary  and  footsore  enough  they  were. 

"  You  are  surely  Englishwomen  ?  "  asked  he  of  the  foremost, 
as  he  lifted  his  cap. 

The  lady  bowed  assent,  beneath  a  heavy  veil. 

"  Then  you  are  ray  guests.  Let  them  pass  in."  And  Here- 
ward threw  himself  off  his  horse,  and  took  the  hidy's  bridle. 

"  Stay,"  she  said,  vpith  an  accent  half  Wessex,  half  Danish, 
"  I  seek  the  Countess  Judith,  if  it  will  please  you  to  tell  me  where 
she  lives." 

•  For  Gyda'3  coming  to  St.  Omer  that  year,  see  Ordericus  Vitalis. 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       169 

"  The  Countess  Judith,  lady,  lives  no  longet*  in  St.  Omer.  Since 
her  liusband's  death,  she  lives  with  her  mother  at  Bruges." 

The  lady  made  a  gesture  of  disappointment. 

''  It  were  best  for  you,  therefore,  to  accept  my  hospitality,  till 
such  time  as  I  can  send  you  and  your  ladies  on  to  Bruges." 

''  I  must  first  know  who  it  is  who  offers  me  hospitality  ?  " 

This  was  said  so  proudly,  that  Hereward  answex*ed  proudly 
enough  in  return, — 

"  I  am  Hereward  Leofricsson,  whom  his  foes  call  Hereward 
the  outlaw  ;  and  his  friends,  Hereward  the  master  of  knights." 

She  started,  and  threw  her  veil  back,  looking  intently  at  him. 
He,  for  his  part,  gave  but  one  glance,  and  then  cried,  — 

"  Mother  of  Heaven  !    You  are  the  great  Countess  ! " 

"  Yes,  I  was  that  woman  once,  if  all  be  not  a  dream.  I  am 
now  I  know  not  what,  seeking  hospitahty  —  if  I  can  believe  my 
eyes  and  ears  —  of  Godiva's  son." 

"  And  from  Godiva's  son  you  shall  have  it,  as  though  you  were 
Godiva's  self.  God  so  deal  with  my  mother,  madam,  as  I  will 
deal  with  you." 

"  His  father's  wat,  and  his  mother's  beauty ! "  said  the  great 
Countess,  looking  upon  him.  "  Too,  too  like  my  own  lost 
Harold ! " 

"  Not  so,  my  lady.  I  am  a  dwarf  compared  to  him."  And 
Hereward  led  the  garron  on  by  the  bridle,  keeping  his  cap  in 
hand,  while  all  wondered  who  the  dame  could  be,  before  whom 
Hereward  the  champion  would  so  abase  himself. 

"  Leofric's  son  does  me  too  much  honor.  He  has  forgotten,  in 
his  chivalry,  that  1  am  Godwin's  widow." 

"  I  have  not  forgotten  that  you  ai-e  Sprakaleg's  daughter,  and 
niece  of  Canute,  king  of  kings.  Neither  have  I  forgotten  that 
you  are  an  English  lady,  in  times  in  which  all  English  folk  are 
one,  and  all  old  English  feuds  are  wiped  away." 

''In  English  blood.  Ah!  if  these  last  words  of  yours  were 
true,  as  you,  perhaps,  might  make  them  true,  England  might  be 
saved  even  yet." 

"Saved?" 

'•  If  there  were  one  man  in  it,  who  cared  for  aught  but  him- 
self." 

Hereward  was  silent  and  thoughtful. 

He  had  sent  Martin  back  to  his  house,  to  tell  Torfrida  to  pre- 
pare bath  and  food  ;  for  the  Countess  Gyda,  with  all  her  train, 
was  coming  to  be  her  guest.  And  when  they  entei-ed  the  court, 
Torfrida  stood  ready. 

"  Is  this  your  lady  ? "  asked  Gyda,  as  Hereward  lifted  her 
from  her  horse. 

8 


170  HERE  WARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

"  I  am  his  lady,  and  your  servant,"  said  Torfrida,  bowing. 

"  Child  !  child !  Bow  not  to  me.  Talk  not  of  servants  to  a 
wretclied  slave,  who  only  longs  to  crawl  into  some  hole  and  die, 
forgetting  all  she  was  and  all  she  had." 

And  the  great  Countess  reeled  with  weariness  and  woe,  and 
fell  upon  Torfrida's  neck. 

A  tall  veiled  lady  next  her  helped  to  support  her ;  and  be- 
tween them  they  almost  carried  her  through  the  hall,  and  into 
Torfrida's  best  guest-chamber. 

And  there  they  gave  her  wine,  and  comforted  her,  and  let  her 
weep  awhile  in  peace. 

The  second  lady  had  unveiled  herself,  displaying  a  beauty 
which  was  still  binlliant,  in  spite  of  sorrow,  hunger,  the  stahis 
of  travel,  and  more  than  forty  years  of  life. 

*'  She  must  be  Gunhilda,"  guessed  Torfrida  to  herself,  and  not 
amiss. 

She  offered  Gyda  a  bath,  which  she  accepted  eagerly,  like  a 
true  Dane. 

"  I  have  not  washed  for  weeks.  Not  since  we  sat  starving  on 
the  Flat-IIoIme  tliere,  in  the  Severn  sea.  I  have  become  as 
foul  as  my  own  fortunes :  and  why  not  ?  It  is  all  of  a  piece. 
Why  should  not  beggars  beg  unwashed  ?  " 

But  when  Torfrida  offered  Gunhilda  the  bath  she  declined. 

"  I  have  done,  lady,  with  such  carnal  vanities.  What  use  in 
cleansing  that  body  which  is  itself  unclean,  and  whitening  the 
outside  of  this  sepulchre  ?  If  I  can  but  cleanse  my  soul  tit  for 
my  heavenly  Bridegroom,  the  body  may  become  —  as  it  must  at 
last  —  food  for  worms." 

"  She  will  needs  enter  religion,  poor  child,"  said  Gyda ;  "  and 
what  wonder  ?  " 

"  I  have  chosen  the  better  part,  and  it  shall  not  be  taken  from 
me." 

"  Taken  !  taken  !  Hark  to  her  !  She  means  to  mock  me,  the 
proud  nun,  with  that  same  '  taken.'  " 

"  God  forbid,  mother  !  " 

"  Then  why  say  taken,  to  me  from  whom  all  is  taken  ?  — 
husband,  sons,  wealth,  land,  renown,  powei',  —  power  which  I 
loved,  wretch  that  I  was,  as  well  as  husband  and  as  sons.  Ah 
God !  the  girl  is  right.  Better  to  rot  in  the  convent,  than 
writhe  in  the  world.  Better  never  to  have  had,  than  to  have 
had  and  lost." 

"  Amen  !  "  said  Gunhilda.  "  '  Blessed  are  the  barren,  and 
they  that  never  gave  suck,'  saith  the  Lord." 

"  No  !  not  so  !  "  cried  Torfrida.  "  Better,  Countess,  to  have 
had  and  lost,  than  never  to  have  had  at  all.     The  glutton  was 


HERE  WARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  171 

right,  swine  as  he  was,  when  he  said  that  not  even  Heaven  could 
take  from  him  the  dinners  he  had  eaten.  How  much  more  we, 
if  we  say,  not  even  Heaven  can  take  from  us  the  love  wherewith 
we  have  loved.  Will  not  our  souls  be  richer  thereby,  through 
all  eternity  ?  " 

"  In  Purgatory  ?  "  asked  Guiihilda. 

"  In  Purgatory,  or  where  else  you  will.  I  love  my  love ; 
and  though  my  love  prove  false,  he  has  been  true ;  though  he 
tr.iraple  me  under  foot,  he  has  held  me  in  his  bosom  ;  though  he 
kill  me,  he  has  lived  for  me.  Wliat  I  have  had  will  still  be 
mine,  when  that  which  I  have  shall  fail  me." 

*'  And  you  would  buy  short  joy  with  la-ting  woe?  " 

"■That  would  I,  like  a  brave  man's  child.  I  say,  —  The  pres- 
ent is  mine,  and  I  will  enjoy  it,  as  greedily  as  a  child.  Let  the 
morrow  take  thought  for  the  things  of  itself  —  Countess,  your 
bath  is  ready." 

Nineteen  years  after,  when  the  great  conqueror  lay,  tossing 
with  agony  and  remorse,  upon  his  dying  bed,  haunted  by  the 
ghosts  of  his  victims,  the  clerks  of  St.  Saviour's  in  Bi'uges  city 
were  putting  up  a  leaden  tablet  (which  remains,  they  say,  unto 
this  very  day)  to  the  memory  of  one  whose  gentle  soul  had 
gently  passed  away.  "  Charitable  to  the  poor,  kind  and  agreea- 
ble to  her  attendants,  courteous  to  strangers,  and  only  severe  to 
herself,"  Gunhilda  had  lingered  on  in  a  world  of  war  and  crime ; 
and  had  gone,  it  may  be,  to  meet  Torfrida  beyond  tlie  grave,  and 
there  finish  their  doubtful  argument. 

The  Countess  was  served  with  food  in  Torfrida's  chamber. 
Hereward  and  his  wife  refused  to  sit,  and  waited  on  her  stand- 
ing. 

"  I  wish  to  show  these  saucy  Flemings,"  said  he,  "  that  an 
English  princess  is  a  princess  still  in  the  eyes  of  one  more  nobly 
born  than  any  of  them." 

But  after  she  had  eaten,  she  made  Torfrida  sit  before  her  on 
the  bed,  and  Hereward  likewise  ;  and  began  to  talk  ;  eagerly,  as 
one  who  had  not  unburdened  her  mind  for  many  weeks ;  and 
eloquently  too,  as  became  Sprakaleg's  daughter  and  Godwin's 
wife. 

She  told  them  how  she  had  fled  from  the  storm  of  Exeter,  with 
a  troop  of  women,  who  dreaded  the  brutalities  of  the  Normans.* 
How  they  had  wandered  up  through  Devon,  found  fishers'  boats 
at  Watchet  in  Somersetshire,  and  gone  off  to  the  little  desert  island 
of  the  Flat-Holme,  in  hopes  of  there  meeting  with  the  Irish  fleet, 

*  To  do  William  justice,  he  would  not  allow  his  men  to  enter  the  city  while 
they  wore  blood-hot ;  and  so  prevented,  as  far  as  he  could,  the  excesses  which 
Gyda  had  feared. 


172  HEREWARD,   THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

which  her  sons,  Edmund  and  Godwin,  were  bringing  against  the 
West  of  England.  How  the  fleet  had  never  come,  and  they  had 
starved  for  many  days ;  and  how  she  had  bribed  a  passing  mer- 
chantman to  take  her  and  her  wretched  train  to  the  land  of 
Baldwin  the  Debonnaire,  who  might  have  pity  on  her  for  the 
sake  of  his  daughter  Judith,  and  Tosti  her  husband  who  died  in 
his  sins. 

And  at  his  name,  her  tears  began  to  flow  afresh  ;  fallen  in  his 
overweening  pride,  —  like  Sweyn,  like  Harold,  hke  herself  — 

"  The  time  was,  when  I  would  not  weep.  If  I  could,  I  would 
not.  For  a  year,  lady,  after  Senlac,  I  sat  like  a  stone.  I  hard- 
ened my  heart  like  a  wall  of  brass,  against  God  and  man.  Then, 
there  upon  the  Flat-Holme,  feeding  on  shell-fish,  listening  to  the 
wail  of  the  sea-fowl,  looking  outside  tlie  wan  water  for  the  sails 
which  never  came,  my  heart  broke  down  in  a  moment.  And  I 
heard  a  voice  crying,  '  There  is  no  help  in  man,  go  thou  to  God.' 
And  1  answered.  That  were  a  beggar's  trick,  to  go  to  God  in 
need,  when  1  went  not  to  him  in  plenty.  No.  Without  God 
I  planned,  and  without  Him  I  must  fail.  Without  Him  I 
went  into  the  battle,  and  without  Him  I  must  bide  the  brunt. 
And  at  best.  Can  He  give  me  back  my  sons  ?  And  I  har- 
dened my  heart  again  like  a  stone,  and  shed  no  tear  till  I  saw 
your  fair  face  this  day." 

"  And  now  !  "  she  said,  turning  sharply  on  Hereward,  "  what 
do  you  do  here  ?  Do  you  not  know  that  your  nephews'  lands  are 
parted  between  grooms  from  Angers  and  scullions  from  Nor- 
mandy ?  " 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  both  them  and  the  grooms." 

•"Sir?" 

"  You  forget,  lady,  that  I  am  an  outlaw." 

"  But  do  you  not  know  that  your  mother's  lands  are  seized  like- 
wise ?  " 

"  She  will  take  refuge  with  her  grandsons,  who  are,  as  I  hear, 
again  on  good  terms  with  their  new  master,  showing  thereby  a 
most  laudable  and  Christian  spirit  of  forgiveness." 

''  On  good  terms  ?  Do  you  not  know,  then,  that  they  are  fight- 
ing again,  outlaws,  and  desperate  at  the  Frenchman's  treachery  ? 
Do  you  not  know  that  they  have  been  driven  out  of  York,  after 
defendiMg  the  city  street  by  street,  house  by  bouse  ?  Do  you  not 
know  that  there  is  not  an  old  man  or  a  child  in  arms  left  in  York ; 
and  that  your  nephews,  and  the  few  fighting  men  who  were  left, 
went  down  the  II umber  in  boats,  and  north  to  Scotland,  to  Gos- 
patrick  and  Waltheof  ?  Do  you  not  know  that  your  mother  is  left 
alone  —  at  Bourne,  or  God  knows  where  —  to  endure  at  the 
hands  of  Norman  ruffians  what  thousands  more  endure  ?  " 


HERE  WARD,   THE  LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH.  173 

Hereward  made  no  answer,  but  played  with  his  dagger. 

"  And  do  you  not  know  that  England  is  ready  to  burst  into  a 
blaze,  if  there  be  one  man  wise  enough  to  put  the  live  coal  into 
the  right  place  ?  That  Sweyn  Ulff^on,  his  kinsman,  or  Osbern, 
his  brother,  will  surely  land  there  within  the  year  with  a  mighty 
host?  And  that  if  there  be  one  man  in  England  of  wit  enough, 
and  knowledge  enough  of  war,  to  lead  the  armies  of  England, 
the  Frenchman  may  be  driven  into  the  sea —  Is  there  any  here 
who  understands  English  ?  " 

"  None  but  ourselves." 

"  And  Canute's  nephew  sit  on  Canute's  throne  ?  " 

Hereward  still  played  with  his  dagger. 

"  Not  the  sons  of  Harold,  then  ?"  asked  he,  after  a  while. 

"  Never !  I  promise  you  that  —  I,  Countess  Gyda,  their  grand- 
mother." 

"  Why  promise  me,  of  all  men,  O  great  lady  ?  " 

"  Because — I  will  tell  you  after.  But  this  I  say,  my  curse  on 
the  grandson  of  mine  who  shall  try  to  seize  that  fatal  crown, 
which  cost  the  life  of  my  fairest,  my  noblest,  my  wisest,  my  bra- 
vest ! " 

Hereward  bowed  his  head,  as  if  consenting  to  the  praise  of 
Harold.  But  he  knew  who  spoke ;  and  he  was  thinking  within 
himself:  "  Her  curse  may  be  on  him  who  shall  seize,  and  yet 
not  on  him  to  whom  it  is  given." 

"  All  that  they,  young  and  unskilful  lads,  have  a  right  to  ask 
is,  their  father's  earldoms  and  their  father's  lands.  Edwin  and 
Morcar  would  keep  their  earldoms  as  of  right.  It  is  a  pity  that 
there  is  no  lady  of  the  house  of  Godwin,  whom  we  could  honor 
by  offering  her  to  one  of  your  nephews,  in  return  for  their  noble- 
ness in  giving  Aldytha  to  my  Harold.  But  this  foolish  girl  here 
refuses  to  wed  — " 

"  And  is  past  forty,"  thought  Hereward  to  himself. 

"  However,  some  plan  to  join  the  families  more  closely  together 
might  be  thought  of.  One  of  the  young  earls  might  marry 
Judith  here.*  Waltheof  wewld  have  Northumbria,  in  right  of 
his  father,  and  ouglit  to  be  well  content,  —  for  although  she  is 
somewhat  older  than  he,  she  is  peerlessly  beautiful,  —  to  many 
your  niece  Aldytha."  f 
"And  Go-patriek?" 

"  Go^patrick,"  she  said,  with  a  half-sneer,  "  will  be  as  sure,  as 
he  is  able,  to  get  something  worth  having  for  himself  out  of  any 
medley.  Let  him  have  Scotch  Northumbria,  if  he  claim  it. 
He  is  a  Dane,  and  our  work  will  be  to  make  a  Danish  England 
once  and  forever." 

*  Tosti's  widow,  daughter  of  Baldwin  of  Flanders. 
t  Harold's  widow. 


174  HEREWARD,   THE   LAST   OF    THE    ENGLISH. 

"  But  what  of  Swejn's  gallant  holders  and  housecarles,  who 
are  to  help  to  do  this  mighty  deed  ?  " 

"  Senlac  left  gaps  enough  among  the  noblemen  of  the  South, 
which  they  can  fill  up,  in  the  place  of  the  French  scum  who 
now  riot  over  Wessex.  And  if  that  should  not  suthce,  what 
higher  honor  for  me,  or  for  my  daughter  the  Queen-Dowager, 
than  to  devote  our  lands  to  the  heroes  who  have  won  them  back 
for  us?" 

Hereward  hoped  inwardly  that  Gyda  would  be  as  good  as  her 
word ;  for  her  greedy  grasp  had  gathered  to  itself,  before  the 
Battle  of  Hastings,  no  less  than  six-and-thirty  thousand  acres  of 
good  English  soil. 

"  I  have  always  heard,"  said  he,  bowing,  "  that  if  the  Lady 
Gyda  had  been  born  a  man,  England  would  have  had  another 
all-seeing  and  all-daring  statesman,  and  Earl  Godwin  a  rival, 
instead  of  a  helpmate.     Now  I  believe  what  I  have  heard." 

But  Torfrida  looked  sadly  at  the  Countess.  There  was  some- 
thing pitiable  in  the  sight  of  a  woman  ruined,  bereaved,  seemingly 
hopeless,  portioning  out  the  very  land  from  which  she  was  a 
fugitive  ;  unable  to  restrain  the  passion  for  intrigue,  which  had 
been  the  toil  and  the  bane  of  her  sad  and  splendid  life. 

"•  And  now,"  she  went  on,  "  surely  some  kind  saint  brought 
me,  even  on  my  first  landing,  to  you  of  all  living  men." 

"  Doubtless  the  blessed  St.  Bertin,  beneath  whose  shadow  we 
repose  here  in  peace,"  said  Hereward,  somewhat  dryly. 

"  I  will  go  barefoot  to  his  altar  to-morrow,  and  offer  my  last 
jewel,"  said  Gunhilda. 

"  You,"  said  Gyda,  without  noticing  her  daughter,  "  are,  above 
all  men,  the  man  who  is  needed."  And  she  began  praising 
Hereward's  valor,  his  fame,  his  eloquence,  his  skill  as  a  general 
and  engineer ;  and  when  he  suggested,  smiling,  that  he  was  an 
exile  and  an  outlaw,  she  insisted  that  he  was  all  the  fitter  from 
that  very  fact.  He  had  no  enemies  among  the  nobles.  He  had 
been  mixed  up  in  none  of  the  civil  wars  and  blood  feuds  of  the 
last  fifteen  years.  He  was  knowir  only  as  that  which  he  was, 
the  ablest  captain  of  his  day,  —  the  only  man  who  could  cope 
with  William,  the  only  man  whom  all  parties  in  England  would 
alike  obey. 

And  so,  with  flattery  as  well  as  with  truth,  she  persuaded,  if 
not  Hereward,  at  least  Torfrida,  that  he  was  the  man  destined  to 
free  England  once  more  ;  and  that  an  earldom  — •  anything  which 
he  chose  to  ask  —  would  be  the  sure  reward  of  his  assistance. 

"  Torfrida,"  said  Hereward  that  night,  "  kiss  me  well ;  for  you 
will  not  kiss  me  again  for  a  while." 
"What?" 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  175 

*'  I  am  going  to  England  to-morrow." 

«  Alone  ?  " 

"  Alone.  I  and  Martin  to  spy  out  the  land  ;  and  a  dozen  or 
60  of  housecarles  to  take  care  of  the  ship  in  harbor." 

''  But  you  have  promised  to  fight  the  Viscount  of  Pinkney." 

"  I  will  be  back  again  in  time  for  him.  Not  a  word,  —  I  must 
go  to  England,  or  go  mad." 

"  But  Ck)untess  Gyda  ?     "Who  will  squire  her  to  Bruges  ?  " 

"  You,  and  the  rest  of  my  men.  You  must  tell  her  all.  She 
has  a  woman's  heart,  and  will  understand.  And  tell  Baldwin  I 
shall  be  back  within  the  month,  if  I  am  alive  on  land  or  water." 

"  Hereward,  Hereward,  the  French  will  kill  you  !  " 

"  Not  while  I  have  your  armor  on.  Peace,  little  fool !  Are 
you  actually  afraid  for  Hereward  at  last  ?  " 

"  O  heavens !  when  am  I  not  afraid  for  you ! "  and  she  cried 
herself  to  sleep  upon  his  bosom.  But  she  knew  that  it  was  the 
right,  and  knightly,  and  Christian  thing  to  do. 

Two  days  after,  a  long  ship  ran  out  of  Calais,  and  sailed  away 
north  and  east. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

HOW  HEREWARD   CLEARED  BOURNE   OF  FRENCHJIEN. 

It  may  have  been  well,  a  week  after,  that  Hereward  rode  from 
the  direction  of  Boston,  with  Martin  running  at  his  heels. 

As  Hereward  rode  along  the  summer  wold  the  summer  sun 
sank  low,  till  just  before  it  went  down  he  came  to  an  island  of 
small  enclosed  fields,  high  banks,  elm-trees,  and  a  farm  inside ; 
one  of  those  most  ancient  holdings  of  the  South  and  East  Counts, 
still  to  be  distinguished,  by  their  huge  banks  and  dikes  full  of 
hedgerow  timber,  from  the  more  modern  corn-lands  outside, 
which  were  in  Hereward's  time  mostly  common  pasture-lands. 

"  This  should  be  Azerdun,"  said  he ;  "  and  there  inside,  as  I 
live,  stands  Azer  getting  in  his  crops.  But  who  has  he  with 
him  ?  " 

With  the  old  man  were  some  half-dozen  men  of  his  own  rank ; 
some  helping  the  serfs  with  might  and  main ;  one  or  two  stand- 
ing on  the  top  of  the  banks,  as  if  on  the  lookout;  but  all  armed 
cap-a-pie. 

"  His  friends  are  helping  him  to  get  them  in,"  quoth  Martin, 
"  for  fear  of  the  rascally  Normans.  A  pleasant  and  peaceable 
country  we  have  come  back  to." 

"  And  a  very  strong  fortress  are  they  holding,"  said  Hereward, 
"  against  either  Norman  horsemen  or  Norman  arrows.  How  to 
dislodge  those  six  fellows  without  six  times  their  number,  I  do 
not  see.     It  is  well  to  recollect  that," 

And  so  he  did ;  and  turned  to  use  again  and  again,  in  after 
years,  the  strategetic  capabilities  of  an  old-fashioned  English 
farm. 

Hereward  spurred  his  horse  up  to  the  nearest  gate,  and  was 
instantly  confronted  by  a  little  fair-haired  man,  as  broad  as  he 
was  tall,  who  heaved  up  a  long  "twybill,"  or  double  axe,  and 
bade  him,  across  the  gate,  go  to  a  certain  place. 

"  Little  Winter,  little  Winter,  my  chuck,  my  darling,  my  mad 
fellow,  my  brother-in-arms,  my  brother  in  robbery  and  murder, 
are  you  grown  so  honest  in  your  old  age  that  you  will  not  know 
Hereward  the  wolf's-head  ?  " 

"  Hereward  !  "  shrieked  the  doughty  little  man.     "  I  took  you 


HEREWARD,   THE   LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH.  177 

for  an  accursed  Norman  in  those  outlandish  clothes  " ;  and  lifting 
up  no  little  voice,  he  shouted,  — 

"  Hereward  is  back,  and  Martin  Lightfoot  at  his  heels !  " 

The  gate  was  thrown  open,  and  Hereward  all  but  pulled  off 
his  horse.  He  was  clapped  on  the  back,  turned  round  and 
round,  admired  from  head  to  foot,  shouted  at  by  old  companions 
of  his  boyhood,  naughty  young  housecarles  of  his  old  troop,  now 
settled  down  into  honest  thriving  yeomen,  hard  working  and  hard 
fighting,  who  had  heard  again  and  again,  with  pride,  his  doughty 
doings  over  sea.  There  was  Winter,  and  Gwenoch,  and  Gery, 
Hereward's  cousin,  —  ancestor,  it  may  be,  of  the  ancient  and 
honorable  house  of  that  name,  and  of  those  parts ;  and  Duti  and 
Outi,  the  two  valiant  twins ;  and  Ulfard  the  White,  and  others, 
some  of  whose  names,  and  those  of  their  sons,  still  stand  in 
Domesday-book. 

"  And  what,"  asked  Hereward,  after  the  first  congratulations 
were  over,  ''  of  my  motlier  ?     What  of  the  folk  at  Bourne  ?  " 

All  looked  each  at  the  other,  and  were  silent. 

"  You  are  too  late,  young  lord,"  said  Azer. 

"  Too  late  ?  " 

"  The  Norman  "  —  Azer  called  him  what  most  men  called  him 
then  —  "has  given  it  to  a  man  of  Gilbert  of  Ghent's,  —  his  but- 
ler, groom,  cook,  for  aught  I  know." 

"  To  Gilbert's  man  ?     And  my  mother  ?  " 

"  God  help  your  mother,  and  your  young  brother,  too.  We 
only  know  that  three  days  ago  some  five-and-twenty  French 
marched  into  the  place." 

"  And  you  did  not  stop  them  ?  " 

"  Young  sir,  who  are  we  to  stop  an  army  ?  We  have  enough 
to  keep  our  own.  Gilbert,  let  alone  the  villain  Ivo  of  Spalding, 
can  send  a  hundred  men  down  on  us  in  four-and-twenty  hours." 

"  Then  I,"  said  Hereward  in  a  voice  of  thunder,  "  will  find  the 
way  to  send  two  hundred  down  on  him  " ;  and  turning  his  horse 
from  the  gate,  he  rode  away  furiously  towards  Bourne. 

He  turned  back  as  suddenly,  and  galloped  into  the  field. 

"  Lads !  old  comrades !  will  you  stand  by  me  if  I  need  you  ? 
Will  you  follow  Hereward,  as  hundreds  have  followed  him  al- 
ready, if  he  will  only  go  before  ?  " 

"  We  will,  we  will." 

"  I  shall  be  back  ere  morning.  What  you  have  to  do,  I  will 
tell  you  then." 

"  Stop  and  eat,  but  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour." 

Then  Hereward  swore  a  great  oath,  by  oak  and  ash  and  thorn, 
that  he  would  neither  eat  bread  nor  drink  water  while  there  was 
a  Norman  left  in  Bourne. 

8*  L 


178  HEREWARD,   THE   LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

"  A  little  ale,  then,  if  no  water,"  said  Azer. 

Hereward  laughed,  and  rode  away. 

"You  will  not  go  single-handed  against  all  those  ruffians," 
shouted  the  old  man  after  him.  "  Saddle,  lads,  and  go  with  him, 
some  of  you,  for  very  shame's  sake." 

But  when  they  galloped  after  Hereward,  he  sent  them  back. 
He  did  not  know  yet,  he  said,  what  he  would  do.  Better  that 
they  should  gather  their  forces,  and  see  what  men  they  could 
afford  him,  in  case  of  open  battle.     And  he  rode  swiftly  on. 

When  he  came  within  the  lands  of  Bourne  it  was  dark. 

"  So  much  the  better,"  thought  Hereward.  "  I  have  no  wish 
to  see  the  old  place  till  I  have  somewhat  cleaned  it  out." 

He  rode  slowly  into  the  long  street  between  the  overhanging 
gables.  At  the  upper  end  he  could  see  the  high  garden  walls  of 
his  mother's  house,  and  rising  over  them  the  great  hall,  its  nar- 
row windows  all  ablaze  with  light.  With  a  bitter  growl  he  rode 
on,  trying  to  recollect  a  house  where  he  could  safely  lodge.  Mar- 
tin pointed  one  out. 

"  Old  Viking  Surturbrand,  the  housecarle,  did  live  there,  and 
maybe  lives  there  still." 

"  We  will  try."     And  Martin  knocked  at  the  door. 

The  wicket  was  opened,  but  not  the  door ;  and  through  the 
wicket  window  a  surly  voice  asked  who  was  there. 

"  Who  lives  here  ?  " 

"  Perry,  son  of  Surturbrand.     Who  art  thou  who  askest  ?  " 

"  An  honest  gentleman  and  his  servant,  looking  for  a  night's 
lodging." 

"  This  is  no  place  for  honest  folk." 

"  As  for  that,  we  don't  wish  to  be  more  honest  than  you  would 
have  us ;  but  lodging  we  will  pay  for,  freely  and  well." 

"  We  want  none  of  your  money  "  ;  and  the  wicket  was  shut. 

Martin  pulled  out  his  axe,  and  drove  the  panel  in. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  We  shall  rouse  the  town,"  said  Here- 
ward. 

"  Let  be ;  these  are  no  French,  but  honest  English,  and  like 
one  all  the  better  for  a  little  horse-play." 

"  What  didst  do  that  for  ?  "  asked  the  surly  voice  again.  "■  Were 
it  not  for  those  rascal  Frenchmen  up  above,  I  would  come  out 
and  split  thy  skull  for  thee." 

"  If  there  be  Frenchmen  up  above,"  said  Martin,  in  a  voice  of 
feigned  terror,  "  take  us  in  for  the  love  of  the  Virgin  and  all  the 
saints,  or  murdered  we  shall  be  ere  morning  light." 

"  You  have  no  call  to  stay  in  the  town,  man,  unless  you  like." 

Hereward  rode  close  to  the  wicket,  and  said  in  a  low  voice, 
"  I  am  a  nobleman  of  Flanders,  good  sir,  and  a  swoi-n  foe  to  all 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH.  179 

French.  My  horse  is  weary,  and  cannot  make  a  step  forward ; 
and  if  you  be  a  Christian  man,  you  will  take  me  in  and  let  me  go 
off  safe  ere  morning  light." 

"From  Flanders?"  And  the  man  turned  and  seemed  to  con- 
sult those  within.  At  length  the  door  was  slowly  opened,  and 
Perry  appeared,  his  double  axe  over  his  shoulder. 

"  If  you  be  from  Flanders,  come  in  for  mercy ;  but  be  quick, 
ere  those  Frenchmen  get  wind  of  you." 

Hereward  M^ent  in.  Five  or  six  nion  were  standing  round  the 
long  table,  upon  which  they  had  just  laid  down  their  double  axes 
and  javelins.  More  than  one  countenance  Hereward  recognized 
at  once.  Over  the  peat-fire  in  the  chimney-corner  sat  a  very  old 
man,  his  hands  upon  his  knees,  as  he  warmed  liis  bare  feet  at  the 
embers.  He  started  up  at  the  noise,  and  Hereward  saw  at  once 
that  it  was  old  Surturbrand,  and  that  he  was  blind. 

"Who  is  it?  Is  Hereward  come?"  asked  he,  with  the  dull, 
dreamy  voice  of  age. 

"  Not  Hereward,  father,"  said  some  one,  "  but  a  knight  from 
Flanders." 

The  old  man  dropped  his  head  upon  his  breast  again  with  a 
querulous  whine,  while  Hereward's  heart  beat  high  at  hearing 
his  own  name.  At  all  events  he  was  among  friends ;  and  ap- 
proaching the  table  he  unbuckled  his  sword  and  laid  it  down 
among  the  other  weapons.  "  At  least,"  said  he,  "  I  shall  have  no 
need  of  thee  as  long  as  I  am  here  among  honest  men." 

"  What  shall  I  do  with  my  master's  horse  ? "  asked  Martin. 
"He  can't  stand  in  the  street  to  be  stolen  by  drunken  French 
horseboys." 

"  Bring  him  in  at  the  front  door,  and  out  at  the  back,"  said 
Perry.  "  Fine  times  these,  when  a  man  dare  not  open  his  own 
yard-gate." 

"  You  seem  to  be  all  besieged  here,"  said  Hereward.  "  How 
is  this  ?  " 

"  Besieged  we  are,"  said  the  man  ;  and  then,  partly  to  turn 
the  subject  off,  "  Will  it  please  you  to  eat,  noble  sir  ?  " 

Hereward  ate  and  drank :  while  his  hosts  eyed  him,  not  with- 
out some  lingering  sus;picion,  but  still  with  admiration  and  some 
respect.  His  splendid  armor  and  weapons,  as  well  as  the  golden 
locks  which  fell  far  below  his  shoulders,  and  conveniently  hid  a 
face  which  he  did  not  wish  yet  to  have  recognized,  showed  him 
to  be  a  man  of  the  highest  rank ;  while  the  palm  of  his  small 
hand,  as  hard  and  bony  as  any  woodman's,  proclaimed  hira  to 
be  no  novice  of  a  fighting  man.  The  strong  Flemish  accent 
which  both  he  and  Martin  Lightfoot  had  assumed  prevented  the 
honest  Englishmen  from  piercing  his  disguise.     They  watched 


180  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

him,  while  he  in  turn  watched  them,  struck  by  their  uneasy 
looks  and  sullen  silence. 

"  We  are  a  dull  company,"  said  he  after  a  while,  courteously 
enough.  "  We  used  to  be  told  in  Flanders  that  there  were  none 
such  stout  drinkers  and  none  such  jolly  singers  as  you  gallant 
men  of  the  Danelagh  here." 

"  Didl  times  make  dull  company,"  said  one,  "  and  no  oflfence  to 
you,  Sir  Knight." 

"  Are  you  such  a  stranger,"  asked  Perry,  "  that  you  do  not 
know  what  has  happened  in  this  town  during  the  last  three 
days?" 

"  No  good,  I  will  warrant,  if  you  have  Frenchmen  in  it." 

"Why  was  not  Hereward  here?"  wailed  the  old  man  in  the 
corner.  "  It  never  would  have  happened  if  he  had  been  in 
the  town." 

"  What  ?  "  asked  Hereward,  trying  to  command  himself. 

"  What  has  happened,"  said  Perry,  "  makes  a  free  English- 
man's blood  boil  to  tell  of  Here,  Sir  Knight,  three  days  ago, 
comes  in  this  Frenchman  with  some  twenty  ruffians  of  his  own, 
and  more  of  one  Taillebois's,  too,  to  see  him  safe ;  says  that  this 
new  king,  this  base-born  Frenchman,  has  given  away  all  Earl 
Morcar's  lands,  and  that  Bourne  is  his ;  kills  a  man  or  two ; 
upsets  the  women ;  gets  drunk,  ruffles,  and  roisters ;  breaks  into 
my  lady's  bower,  calling  her  to  give  up  her  keys,  and  when  she 
gives  them,  will  have  all  her  jewels  too.  She  faces  them  like  a 
brave  Princess,  and  two  of  the  hounds  lay  hold  of  her,  and  say 
that  she  shall  ride  through  Bourne  as  she  rode  through  Coven- 
try. The  boy  Godwin  —  he  that  was  the  great  Earl's  godson, 
our  last  hope,  the  last  of  our  house  —  draws  sword  on  them; 
and  he,  a  boy  of  sixteen  summers,  kills  them  both  out  of  hand. 
The  rest  set  on  him,  cut  his  head  off,  and  there  it  sticks  on  the 
gable  spike  of  the  hall  to  this  hour.  And  do  you  ask,  after  that, 
why  free  Englishmen  are  dull  company  ?  " 

"  And  our  turn  will  come  next,"  growled  somebody.  "  The 
turn  will  go  all  round  ;  no  man's  life  or  land,  wife  or  daughters, 
will  be  safe  soon  for  these  accursed  Frenchmen,  unless,  as  the 
old  man  says,  Hereward  comes  back." 

Once  again  the  old  man  wailed  out  of  the  chimney-corner : 
"  Why  did  they  ever  send  Hereward  away  ?  I  warned  the  good 
Earl,  I  warned  my  good  lady,  many  a  time,  to  let  him  sow  his 
wild  oats  and  be  done  with  them  ;  or  they  might  need  him  some 
day  when  they  could  not  find  him  !  He  was  a  lad  !  He  was  a 
lad  ! "  and  again  he  whined,  and  sank  into  silence. 

Hereward  heard  all  this  dry-eyed,  hai'dening  his  heart  into  a 
great  resolve. 


HEREWAED,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       181 

"  This  is  a  dark  storj,"  said  he  calmly,  "  and  it  would  behoove 
me  as  a  gentleman  to  succor  this  distressed  lady,  did  I  but  know 
how.     Tell  me  what  I  can  do  now,  and  I  will  do  it." 

"  Your  health !  "  cried  one.     "  You  speak  like  a  true  knight." 

"  And  he  looks  the  man  to  keep  his  word,  I  '11  warrant  him," 
spoke  another. 

"  He  does,"  said  Perry,  shaking  his  head  ;  "  but  if  anything 
could  have  been  done,  sir,  be  sure  we  would  have  done  it :  but 
all  our  armed  men  are  scattered  up  an(5  down  the  country,  each 
taking  care,  as  is  natural,  of  his  own  cattle  and  his  own  women. 
There  are  not  ten  men-at-arms  in  Bourne  this  night ;  and,  what 
is  worse,  sir,  as  you  know,  who  seem  to  have  known  war  as  well 
as  me,  there  is  no  man  to  lead  them." 

Here  Hereward  was  on  the  point  of  saying,  "  And  what  if  I 
led  you?"  On  the  point  too  of  discovering  himself:  but  he 
stopped  short. 

Was  it  fair  to  involve  this  little  knot  of  gallant  fellows  in  what 
might  be  a  hopeless  struggle,  and  have  all  Bourne  burned  over 
their  heads  ere  morning  by  the  ruffian  Frenchmen  ?  No  ;  his 
mother's  quarrel  was  his  own  private  quarrel.  He  would  go 
alone  and  see  the  strength  of  the  enemy ;  and  after  that,  may  be, 
he  would  raise  the  country  on  them:  or  —  and  half  a  dozen  plans 
suggested  themselves  to  his  crafty  brain  as  he  sat  brooding  and 
scheming  :  then,  as  always,  utterly  self-confident. 

He  was  startled  by  a  burst  of  noise  outside,  —  music,  laughter, 
and  shouts. 

"  There,"  said  Perry,  bitterly,  "  are  those  Frenchmen,  dan- 
cing and  singing  in  the  hall  with  my  Lord  Godwin's  head  above 
them  !  "  And  curses  bitter  and  deep  went  round  the  room.  They 
sat  sullen  and  silent  it  may  be  for  an  hour  or  more  ;  only  moving 
when,  at  some  fresh  outbreak  of  revelry,  the  old  man  started  from 
his  doze  and  asked  if  that  was  Hereward  coming. 

"  And  who  is  this  Hereward  of  whom  you  speak  ?  "  said  Here- 
ward at  last. 

"  We  thought  you  might  know  him,  Sir  Knight,  if  you  come 
from  Flanders,  as  you  say  you  do,"  said  three  or  four  voices  in  a 
surprised  and  surly  tone. 

"  Certainly  I  know  such  a  man,  if  he  be  Hereward  the  wolf's- 
head,  Hereward  the  outlaw,  as  they  call  him.  And  a  good  soldier 
he  is,  though  he  be  not  yet  made  a  knight ;  and  married,  too,  to 
a  rich  and  fair  lady.  I  served  under  this  Hereward  a  few  months 
ago  in  the  Friesland  War,  and  know  no  man  whom  I  would  sooner 
follow."  . 

"  Nor  I  neither,"  chimed  in  Martin  Lightfoot  from  the  other 
end  of  the  table. 


182       HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

"  Nor  we,"  cried  all  the  men-at-amis  at  once,  each  vying  with 
the  other  in  extravairant  stories  of  their  hero's  prowess,  and  in 
asking  the  knight  of  Flanders  whether  they  were  true  or  not. 

To  avoid  offending  them,  Hereward  was  forced  to  confess  to  a 
great  many  deeds  wliich  he  had  never  done :  but  he  was  right 
glad  to  find  that  his  fame  had  reached  his  native  place,  and  that 
he  could  count  on  the  men  if  he  needed  them. 

"  But  who  is  this  Here^vard,"  said  he,  "  that  he  should  have  to 
do  with  your  town  here  ?  " 

Half  a  dozen  voices  at  once  told  him  his  own  story. 

"  I  always  heard,"  said  he,  dryly,  "  that  that  gentleman  was  of 
some  very  noble  kin ;  and  I  will  surely  tell  him  all  that  has  be- 
fallen here  as  soon  as  I  return  to  Flanders." 

At  last  they  grew  sleepy,  and  the  men  went  out  and  brought 
in  bundles  of  sweet  rush,  and  spread  them  against  the  wall,  and 
prepared  to  lie  down,  each  his  weapon  by  his  side.  And  when 
they  were  lain  down,  Hereward  beckoned  to  him  Perry  and 
Martin  Lightfoot,  and  went  out  into  the  back  yard,  under  the 
pretence  of  seeing  to  his  horse. 

"  Perry  Surturbraudssoii,"  said  he,  "  you  seem  to  be  an  honest 
man,  as  we  in  foreign  parts  hold  all  the  Danelager  to  be.  Now 
it  is  fixed  in  my  mind  to  go  up,  and  my  servant,  to  your  hall,  and 
see  what  those  French  upstarts  are  about.  Will  you  trust  me  to 
go,  without  my  fleeing  back  here  if  I  am  found  out,  or  in  any  way 
bringing  you  to  harm  by  mixing  you  up  in  my  private  matters? 
And  will  you,  if  I  do  not  come  back,  keep  for  your  own  the  horse 
which  is  in  your  stable,  and  give  moreover  this  purse  and  this 
ring  to  your  lady,  if  you  can  find  means  to  see  her  face  to  face ; 
and  say  thus  to  her,  —  that  he  that  sent  that  purse  and  ring  may 
be  found,  if  he  be  alive,  at  St.  Omer,  with  Baldwin,  Count  of 
Flanders  ;  and  that  if  he  be  dead,  as  he  is  like  enough  to  be,  his 
trade  being  naught  but  war,  she  will  still  find  at  St.  Omer  a 
home  and  wealth  and  friends,  till  these  evil  times  be  overpast?" 

As  Hereward  had  spoken  with  some  slight  emotion,  he  had 
dropped  unawares  his  assumed  Flemish  accent,  and  had  spoken 
in  broad  burly  Lincolnshire ;  and  therefore  it  was  that  Perry, 
who  had  been  staring  at  him  by  the  moonlight  all  the  while,  said, 
when  he  was  done,  tremblingly,  — 

"  Either  you  are  Hereward,  or  you  are  his  fetch.  You  speak 
like  Hereward,  you  look  like  Hereward.  Just  what  Hereward 
would  be  now,  you  are.  You  are  my  lord,  and  you  cannot  deny 
it." 

"  Perry,  if  you  know  me,  speak  of  me  to  no  living  soul,  save  to 
your  lady  my  mother ;  and  let  me  and  my  serving-man  go  free 
out  of  your  yard-gate.     If  I  ask  you  before  morning  to  open  it 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       183 

again  to  me,  you  will  know  that  there  is  not  a  Frenchman  left  in 
the  Hall  of  Bourne." 

Perry  threw  his  arms  around  him,  and  embraced  him  silently. 

"Get  me  only,"  said  Hereward,  "some  long  woman's  gear 
and  black  mantle,  if  you  can,  to  cover  this  bright  armor  of  mine." 

Perry  went  off  in  silence  as  one  stunned,  —  brought  the  mantle, 
and  let  them  out  of  the  yard-gate.  In  ten  minutes  more,  the 
two  slipping  in  by  well-known  path>,  stood  under  the  gable  of  the 
great  hall.  Not  a  soul  was  stirring  outside.  The  serfs  were  all 
cowering  in  their  huts  like  so  many  rabbits  in  their  burrows, 
listening  in  fear  to  the  revelry  of  their  new  tyrants.  The  night 
was  dark  :  but  not  so  dark  but  that  Hereward  could  see  between 
him  and  the  sky  his  brother's  long  locks  floating  in  the  breeze. 

"That  I  must  have  down,  at  least,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Then  here  is  wherewithal,"  said  Martin  Lightfoot,  as  he 
stumbled  over  something.  "  The  drunken  villains  have  left  the 
ladder  in  the  yard." 

Hereward  got  up  the  ladder,  took  down  the  head  and  wrapped 
it  in  the  cloak,  and  ere  he  did  so  kissed  the  cold  forehead.  How 
he  had  hated  that  boy  !  Well,  at  least  he  had  never  wilfully 
harmed  him,  —  or  the  boy  him  either,  for  that  matter.  And  now 
he  had  died  like  a  man,  killing  his  foe.  He  was  of  the  true  old 
blood  after  all.  And  Hereward  felt  that  he  would  have  given  all 
that  he  had,  save  his  wife  or  his  sword-hand,  to  have  that  boy 
alive  again,  to  pet  him,  and  train  him,  and  teach  him  to  fight 
at  his  side. 

Then  he  slipped  round  to  one  of  the  narrow  unshuttered  win- 
dows and  looked  in.  The  hall  was  in  a  wasteful  blaze  of  light,  — 
a  whole  month's  candles  burning  in  one  night.  The  table  was 
covered  with  all  his  father's  choicest  plate  ;  the  wine  was  running 
waste  upon  the  floor ;  the  men  were  rolling  at  the  table  in  eveiy 
stage  of  drunkenness  ;  the  loose  women,  camp-followers,  and  such 
like,  almost  as  drunk  as  their  masters  ;  and  at  the  table  head, 
most  drunk  of  all,  sat,  in  Earl  Leofric's  seat,  the  new  Lord  of 
Bourne. 

Hereward  could  scarce  believe  his  eyes.  He  was  none  other 
than  Gilbert  of  Ghent's  stout  Flemish  cook,  whom  he  had  seen 
many  a  time  in  Scotland.  Hereward  turned  from  the  window  in 
disgust ;  but  looked  again  as  he  heard  words  which  roused  his 
anger  still  more. 

For  in  the  open  space  nearest  the  door  stood  a  gleeman,  a 
dancing,  harping,  foul-mouthed  fellow,  who  was  showing  off  ape's 
tricks,  jesting  against  the  English,  and  shuffling  about  in  mock- 
eries of  English  dancing.  At  some  particularly  coarse  jest  of 
his,  the  new  Lord  of  Bourne  burst  into  a  roar  of  admiration. 


184       HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

"Ask  what  thou  wilt,  fellow,  and  thou  shalt  have  it.  Thou 
■wilt  find  me  a  better  master  to  thee  than  ever  was  Morcar,  the 
English  barbarian." 

The  scoundrel,  say  the  old  chroniclers,  made  a  request  con- 
cerning Hereward's  family  which  cannot  be  printed  here. 

Herevvard  ground  his  teeth.  "  If  thou  livest  till  morning  light," 
said  he,  "  1  will  not." 

The  la?t  brutality  awoke  some  better  feeling  in  one  of  the 
girls,  —  a  large  coarse  Fleming,  who  sat  by  the  new  lord's  side. 
"  Fine  words,"  said  she,  scornfully  enough,  "  for  the  sweepings 
of  Norman  and  Flemish  kennels.  You  forget  that  you  left  one 
of  this  veiy  Leofrie's  sons  behind  in  Flanders,  who  would  besom 
all  out  if  he  was  here  before  the  morning's  dawn." 

"  Herevvard  ?  "  cried  the  cook,  striking  her  down  with  a  drunken 
blow  ;  "  the  scoundrel  who  stole  the  money  which  the  Frisians 
sent  to  Count  Baldwin,  and  gave  it  to  his  own  troops  ?  We 
are  safe  enough  from  him  at  all  events  ;  he  dare  not  show  his 
face  on  this  side  the  Alps,  for  fear  of  the  gallows." 

Hereward  had  heard  enough.  He  slipped  down  from  the 
window  to  Martin,  and  led  him  round  the  house. 

"  Now  then,  down  with  the  ladder  quick,  and  dash  in  the  door. 
I  go  in  :  stay  thou  outside.  If  any  man  passes  me,  see  that  he 
pass  not  thee." 

Martin  chuckled  a  ghostly  laugh  as  he  helped  the  ladder  down. 
In  another  momfMit  the  door  was  burst  in,  and  Hereward  stood 
upon  the  threshold.  He  gave  one  war-shout,  —  his  own  terrible 
name,  —  and  then  rushed  forward.  As  he  passed  the  gleeman,  he 
gave  him  one  stroke  across  the  loins  ;  the  wretch  fell  shrieking. 

And  then  began  a  murder,  grim  and  great.  They  fought  with 
ale-cup?,  with  knives,  with  benches  :  but,  drunken  and  unarmed, 
they  were  hewn  down  like  sheep.  Fourteen  Normans,  says  the 
chronicler,  were  in  the  hall  when  Hereward  burst  in.  When  the 
sun  rose  there  were  fourteen  heads  upon  the  gable.  Escape  had 
been  impossible.  Martin  had  laid  the  ladder  across  the  door ; 
and  the  few  who  escaped  the  master's  terrible  sword,  stumbled 
over  it,  to  be  brained  by  the  man's  not  less  terrible  axe. 

Then  Hereward  took  up  his  brother's  head,  and  went  in  to  his 
mother. 

The  women  in  the  bower  opened  to  him.  They  had  seen  all 
that  passed  from  the  gallery  above,  which,  as  usual,  hidden  by  a 
curtain,  enabled  the  women  to  watch  unseen  what  passed  in  the 
hall  below. 

The  Lady  Godiva  sat  crouched  together,  all  but  alone,  —  for 
her  bower-maidens  had  fled  or  been  carried  off  long  since,  —  upon 
a  low  stool  beside  a  long  dark  thing  covered  with  a  pall.     So 


HEREWAED,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       185 

utterly  crushed  was  she,  that  she  did  not  even  lift  up  her  head  as 
Hereward  entered. 

He  placed  his  ghastly  burden  reverently  beneath  the  pall,  and 
then  went  and  knelt  before  his  mother. 

For  a  while  neither  spoke  a  word.  Then  the  Lady  Godiva 
suddenly  drew  back  her  hood,  and  dropping  on  her  knees,  threw 
her  arms  round  Hereward's  neck,  and  wept  till  she  could  weep 
no  more. 

"  Blessed  strong  arms,"  sobbed  she  at  last,  "  around  me  !  To 
feel  something  left  in  the  world  to  protect  me  ;  something  left  in 
the  world  which  loves  me." 

"  You  forgive  me,  mother  ?  " 

"  You  forgive  me  ?  It  was  I,  I  who  was  in  fault,  —  I,  who 
should  have  cherished  you,  my  strongest,  my  bravest,  my  noblest, 
■ —  now  my  all." 

"  No,  it  was  all  my  fault ;  and  on  my  head  is  all  this  misery. 
If  I  had  been  here,  as  1  ought  to  have  been,  all  this  might  have 
never  happened." 

"  You  would  only  have  been  murdered  too.  No  :  thank  God 
you  were  away ;  or  God  would  have  taken  you  with  the  rest. 
His  arm  is  bared  against  me,  and  His  face  turned  away  from  me. 
All  in  vain,  in  vain  !  Vain  to  have  washed  my  hands  in  inno- 
cency,  and  worshipped  Him  night  and  day.  Vain  to  have  builded 
minsters  in  his  honor,  and  heaped  the  shrines  of  his  saints  with 
gold.  Vain  to  have  fed  the  hungry,  and  clothed  the  naked,  and 
washed  the  feet  of  his  poor,  that  I  might  atone  for  my  own  sins, 
and  the  sins  of  my  house.  This  is  His  answer.  He  has  taken 
me  up,  and  dashed  me  down  :  and  naught  is  left  but,  like  Job, 
to  abhor  myself  and  repent  in  dust  and  ashes  —  of  I  know  not 
what." 

"  God  has  not  deserted  you.  See,  He  has  sent  you  me  !  "  said 
Hereward,  wondering  to  find  himself,  of  all  men  on  earth,  preach- 
ing consolation. 

"  Yes,  I  have  you  !  Hold  me.  Love  me.  Let  me  feel  that 
one  thing  loves  me  upon  earth.  I  want  love  ;  I  must  have  it : 
and  if  God,  and  his  mother,  and  all  the  saints,  refuse  their  love, 
I  must  turn  to  the  creature,  and  ask  it  to  love  me,  but  for  a  day." 

"  Forever,  mother." 

"  You  will  not  leave  me  ?  " 

"  If  I  do,  I  come  back,  to  finish  what  I  have  begun." 

"  More  blood  ?  O  God  !  Hereward,  not  that !  Let  us  return 
good  for  evil.  Let  us  take  up  our  crosses.  Let  us  humble  our- 
selves under  God's  hand,  and  flee  into  some  convent,  and  there 
die  praying  for  our  country  and  our  kin." 

"  Men  must  work,  while  women  pray.  I  will  take  you  to  a 
aainster,  —  to  Peterborough." 


186      HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

"  No,  not  to  Peterborough  !  " 

"  But  my  Uncle  Brand  is  abbot  there,  they  tell  me,  now  this 
four  years ;  and  that  rogue  Herluin,  prior  in  his  place." 

"  He  is  dying, — dying  of"  a  broken  heart,  like  me.  And  the 
Fi'enchraan  has  given  his  abbey  to  one  Thorold,  the  tyrant  of 
Malmesbury,  —  a  Frenchman  like  himself.  No,  take  me  where 
I  shall  never  see  a  French  face.  Take  me  to  Crowland  —  and 
him  with  me  —  where  I  shall  see  naught  but  English  faces,  and 
hear  English  chants,  and  die  a  free  Englishwoman  under  St. 
Guthlac's  wings." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Hereward,  bitterly,  "  St.  Guthlac  is  a  right  Eng- 
lishman, and  will  have  some  sort  of  fellow-feeling  for  us ;  while 
St.  Peter,  of  course,  is  somewhat  too  fond  of  Rome  and  those 
Italian  monks.  Well,  —  blood  is  thicker  than  water  ;  so  I  hardly 
blame  the  blessed  Apostle." 

"  Do  not  talk  so,  Hereward." 

"  Much  the  saints  have  done  for  us,  mother,  that  we  are  to  be 
60  very  respectful  to  their  high  mightinesses.  1  fear,  if  this 
Frenchman  goes  on  with  his  plan  of  thrusting  his  monks  into  our 
abbeys,  I  shall  have  to  do  more  even  for  St.  Guthlac  than  ever 
he  did  for  me.  Do  not  say  more,  mother.  This  night  has  made 
Hereward  a  new  man.  Now,  prepare  " —  and  she  knew  what  he 
ment  —  "and  gather  all  your  treasures;  and  we  will  start  for 
Crowland  to-morrow  afternoon." 


CHAPTER    XX. 

HOW  HEREWARD  WAS   MADE    A    KNIGHT   AFTER   THE    FASHION 
OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

A  WILD  night  was  that  in  Bourne.  All  the  folk,  free  and  un- 
free,  man  and  woman,  out  on  the  streets,  asking  the  meaning  of 
those  terrible  shrieks,  followed  by  a  more  terrible  silence. 

At  last  Hereward  strode  down  from  the  hall,  his  drawn  sword 
in  his  hand. 

"  Silence,  good  folks,  and  hearken  to  me,  once  for  all.  There  is 
not  a  Frenchman  left  alive  in  Bourne.  If  you  be  the  men  I  take 
you  for,  there  shall  not  be  one  left  alive  between  Wash  and  Hum- 
ber.  Silence,  again  ! "  as  a  fierce  cry  of  rage  and  joy  arose, 
and  men  rushed  forward  to  take  him  by  the  hand,  women  to  em- 
brace him.  "  This  is  no  time  ^or  compliments,  good  folks,  but  for 
quick  wit  and  quick  blows.  For  the  law  we  fight,  if  we  do  fight; 
and  by  the  law  we  must  work,  fight  or  not.  Whei'e  is  the  law- 
man of  the  town  ?  " 

"  I  was  lawman  last  night,  to  see  such  law  done  as  there  is  left," 
said  Perry.  "  But  you  are  lawman  now.  Do  as  you  will.  We 
"will  obey  you." 

"  You  shall  be  our  lawman,"  shouted  many  voices. 

"  I !     Who  am  I  ?     Out-of-law,  and  a  wolf's-head." 

"  We  will  put  you  back  into  your  law,  —  we  will  give  you  your 
lands  in  full  busting." 

"  Never  mind  a  busting  on  my  behalf.  Let  us  have  a  busting, 
if  we  have  one,  for  a  better  end  than  that.  Now,  men  of  Bourne, 
I  have  put  the  coal  in  the  bush.  Dare  you  blow  the  fire  till 
the  forest  is  aflame  from  south  to  north  ?  I  have  fought  a 
dozen  of  Frenchmen.  Dare  you  fight  Talllebois  and  Gilbert  of 
Ghent,  with  William,  Duke  of  Normandy,  at  their  back  ?  Or 
will  you  take  me,  here  as  I  stand,  and  give  me  up  to  them  as  an 
outlaw  and  a  robber,  to  feed  the  crows  outside  the  gates  of  Lin- 
coln ?  Do  it,  if  you  will.  It  will  be  the  wiser  plan,  my  friends. 
Give  me  up  to  be  judged  and  hanged,  and  so  purge  yourselves  of 
the  villanous  murder  of  Gilbert's  cook,  —  your  late  lord  and 
master." 

*'  Lord  and  master !     We  are  free  men  ! "  shouted  the  hold- 


188  HEREWARD,    THE   LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH. 

ers,  or  yeomen  gentlemen.  "  We  hold  our  lands  from  God  and 
the  sun." 

"  You  are  our  lord  !  "  shouted  the  socmen,  or  tenants.  "  "Who 
but  you  ?     We  will  follow,  if  you  will  lead  !  " 

"  Hereward  is  come  home  !  "  cried  a  feeble  voice  behind.  "  Let 
me  come  to  him.     Let  me  feel  him." 

And  through  the  crowd,  supported  by  two  ladies,  tottered  the 
mighty  form  of  Surturbrand,  the  blind  Viking. 

"  Hereward  is  come  !  "  cried  he,  as  he  folded  his  master's  son 
in  his  arms.  "  Hoi !  he  is  wet  with  blood  !  Hoi !  he  smells  of 
blood  !  Hoi  !  the  ravens  will  grow  fat  now,  for  Hereward  is 
come  home ! " 

Some  would  have  led  the  old  man  away  ;  but  he  thrust  them 
off  fiercely. 

"  Hoi !  come  wolf !  Hoi !  come  kite  !  Hoi !  come  erne  from 
off  the  fen  !  You  followed  us,  and  we  fed  you  well,  when  Swend 
Forkbeard  brought  us  over  the  sea.  Follow  us  now,  and  we 
will  feed  you  better  still,  with  the  mongrel  Frenchers  who  scoff 
at  the  tongue  of  their  forefathers,  and  would  rob  their  nearest 
kinsman  of  land  and  lass.  Hoi !  Swend's  men  !  Hoi !  Canute's 
men  !  Vikings'  sons.  Sea-cocks'  sons.  Berserkers'  sons  all !  Split 
up  the  war-arrow,  and  send  it  round,  and  the  curse  of  Odin  on 
every  man  that  will  not  pass  it  on  !  A  war-king  to-morrow,  and 
Hildur's  game  next  day,  that  the  old  Surturbi'and  may  fall  like  a 
freeholder,  axe  in  hand,  and  not  die  like  a  cow,  in  the  straw 
which  the  Frenchman  has  spared  him." 

All  men  were  silent,  as  the  old  Viking's  voice,  cracked  and 
feeble  when  he  began,  gathered  strength  from  rage,  till  it  rang 
through  the  still  night-air  hke  a  trumpet-blast. 

The  silence  was  broken  by  a  long  wild  cry  from  the  fort>jt, 
which  made  the  women  start,  and  catch  their  children  closer  to 
them.     It  was  the  howl  of  a  wolf 

"  Hark  to  the  witch's-horse  !  Hark  to  the  son  of  Fenris,  how 
he  calls  for  meat !  Are  ye  your  fathers'  sons,  ye  men  of  Bourne  ? 
They  never  let  the  gray  beast  call  in  vain." 

Hereward  saw  his  opportunity  and  seized  it.  There  were 
those  in  the  crowd,  he  well  knew,  as  there  must  needs  be  in  all 
crowds,  who  wished  themselves  well  out  of  the  busincas ;  who 
shrank  from  the  thought  of  facing  the  Norman  barons,  much 
more  the  Norman  king  ;  who  were  ready  enough,  had  the  tide  of 
feeling  begun  to  ebb,  of  blaming  Hereward  for  rashness,  even 
though  they  might  not  have  gone  so  far  as  to  give  him  up  to  the 
Normans  ;  who  would  have  advised  some  sort  of  compromise, 
pacifying  half-measure,  or  other  weak  plan  for  escaping  present 
danger,  by  delivering  themselves  over  to  future  destruction.     But 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF   THE"tNGLISH.  189 

three  out  of  four  there  were  good  men  and  true.  The  savage 
chant  of  the  old  barbarian  might  have  startled  them  somewhat, 
for  ihey  were  tolerably  orthodox  Christian  folk.  But  there  was 
pen=;e  as  well  as  spirit  in  its  savageness  ;  and  they  growled  ap- 
plause, as  he  ceased.     But  Hereward  heard,  and  cried,  — 

"  The  Viking  is  right !  So  speaks  the  spirit  of  our  fathers, 
and  we  must  show  ourselves  their  true  sons.  Send  round  the 
war-arrow,  and  death  to  the  man  who  does  not  pass  it  on  !  Bet- 
ter die  bravely  together  than  falter  and  part  company,  to  be 
hunted  down  one  by  one  by  men  wlio  will  never  forgive  us  as 
long  as  we  have  an  acre  of  land  for  them  to  seize.  Perry,  son 
of  Surturbrand,  you  are  the  lawman.     Put  it  to  the  vote  !  " 

"  Send  round  the  war-arrow!"  shouted  Perry  himself;  and 
if  there  was  a  man  or  two  who  shrank  from  the  proposal  they 
found  it  prudent  to  shout  as  loudly  as  did  the  rest. 

Ere  the  morning  light,  the  war-arrow  was  split  into  four  splin- 
ters, and  carried  out  to  the  four  airts,  through  all  Kesteven.  If 
the  splinter  were  put  into  the  house-father's  hand,  he  must  send 
it  on  at  once  to  the  next  freeman's  house.  If  he  were  away,  it 
was  stuck  into  his  house-door,  or  into  his  great  chair  by  the  fire- 
side, and  woe  to  him  if,  on  his  return,  he  sent  it  not  on  likewise. 
All  through  Kesteven  went  that  niglit  the  arrow-splinters,  and 
with  them  the  w^hisper,  "  Hereward  is  come  again !  "  And  be- 
fore midday  there  were  fifty  well-armed  men  in  the  old  camping- 
field  outside  the  town,  and  Hereward  haranguing  them  in  words 
of  fire. 

A  chill  came  over  them,  nevertheless,  when  he  told  them  that 
he  must  return  at  once  to  Flanders. 

"  But  it  must  be,"  he  said.  He  had  promised  his  good  lord 
and  sovereign,  Baldwin  of  Flanders,  and  his  word  of  honor  he 
must  keep.  Two  visits  he  must  pay,  ere  he  went ;  and  then  to 
sea.  But  within  the  year,  if  he  were  alive  on  ground,  he  would 
return,  and  with  him  shi{)S  and  men,  it  might  be  with  Sweyn  and 
all  the  power  of  Denmark.  Only  let  them  iiold  their  own  till 
the  Danes  should  come,  and  all  would  be  well.  And  whenever 
he  came  back,  he  would  set  a  light  to  three  farms  that  stood  upon 
a  hill,  whence  they  could  be  seen  far  and  wide  over  the  Brunes- 
wold  and  over  all  the  fen  ;  and  then  all  men  might  know  for  sure 
that  Hereward  was  come  again. 

"  And  nine-and-forty  of  them,"  says  the  chronicler,  "  he  chose 
to  guard  Bourne,"  seemingly  the  lands  which  had  been  his 
nephew  Morcar's,  till  he  should  come  back  and  take  them  for 
himself.  Godiva's  lands,  of  Witham  Toft  and  Mainthorpe,  Gery 
his  cousin  should  hold  till  his  return,  and  send  what  he  could  off 
them  to  his  mother  at  Crowland. 


190  HEREWJtRD,  THE  LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH. 

Then  they  went  down  to  the  water  and  took  barge,  and  laid 
the  corpse  therein ;  and  Godiva  and  Hereward  sat  at  the  dead 
lad's  head  ;  and  Winter  steered  the  boat,  and  Gwenoch  took  the 
stroke-oar. 

And  they  rowed  away  for  Crowland,  by  many  a  mere  and 
many  an  ea ;  through  narrow  reaches  of"  clear  brown  glassy 
water ;  between  the  dark-green  alders  ;  between  the  pale-green 
reeds  ;  where  the  coot  clanked,  and  the  bittern  boomed,  and  the 
sedge-bird,  not  content  with  its  own  sweet  song,  mocked  the  song 
of  all  the  birds  around  ;  and  then  out  into  the  broad  lagoons, 
where  hung  motionless,  high  overhead,  hawk  beyond  hawk,  buz- 
zard beyond  buzzard,  kite  beyond  kite,  as  far  as  eye  could  see. 
Into  the  air,  as  they  rowed  on,  whirred  up  the  great  skeins  of 
wild  fowl  innumerable,  with  a  cry  as  of  all  the  bells  of  Ci'owland, 
or  all  the  hounds  of  Bruneswold ;  and  clear  above  all  the  noise 
sounded  the  wild  whistle  of  the  cnrlews,  and  the  trumpet-note  of 
the  great  white  swan.  Out  of  the  reeds,  like  an  arrow,  shot  the 
peregrine,  singled  one  luckless  mallard  from  the  flock,  caught 
hhn  up,  struck  him  stone  dead  with  one  blow  of  his  terrible  heel, 
and  swept  his  prey  with  him  into  the  reeds  again. 

"  Death !  death !  death !  "  said  Lady  Godiva,  as  the  feathers 
fluttered  down  into  the  boat  and  rested  on  the  dead  boy's  pall. 
"■  War  among  man  and  beast,  war  on  earth,  war  in  air,  war  in 
the  water  beneath,"  as  a  great  pike  rolled  at  his  bait,  sending  a 
shoal  of  white  fish  flying  along  the  surface.  "  And  war,  says 
holy  writ,  in  heaven  above.  O  Thou  who  didst  die  to  destroy 
death,  when  will  it  all  be  over?  " 

And  thus  they  glided  on  from  stream  to  stream,  until  they 
came  to  the  sacred  isle  of  "  the  inheritance  of  the  Lord,  the  soil 
of  St.  Mary  and  St.  Bartholomew  ;  the  most  holy  sanctuary  of 
St.  Guthlac  and  his  monks ;  the  minster  most  free  from  worldly 
servitude  ;  the  special  almshouse  of  the  most  illustrious  kings  ; 
the  sole  place  of  refuge  for  any  one  in  all  tribulations ;  the  per- 
petual abode  of  the  saints ;  the  possession  of  religious  men, 
especially  set  apart  by  the  Common  Council  of  the  kingdom ;  by 
reason  of  the  frequent  miracles  of  the  most  holy  Confessor,  an 
ever  fruitful  mother  of  camphire  in  the  vineyards  of  Engedi ; 
and,  by  reason  of  the  privileges  granted  by  the  kings,  a  city  of 
grace  and  safety  to  all  who  repent." 

As  they  drew  near,  they  passed  every  minute  some  fisher's 
log  canoe,  in  which  worked  with  net  or  line  the  criminal  who 
had  saved  his  life  by  fleeing  to  St.  Guthlac,  and  becoming  his 
man  henceforth;  the  slave  who  had  fled  from  his  master's  cruelty; 
and  here  and  there  in  those  evil  days,  the  master  who  had  fled 
from  the  cruelty  of  Normans,  who  would  have  done  to  him  as 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       191 

he  had  done  to  others.  But  all  old  grudges  were  put  away  there. 
They  had  sought  the  peace  of  St.  Guthlac ;  and  therefore  they 
most  keep  his  peace,  and  get  their  living  from  the  fish  of  the 
iive  rivers,  within  the  bounds  whereof  was  peace,  as  of  their 
own  quiet  streams ;  for  the  Abbot  and  .St.  Guthlac  were  the  only 
lords  thereof,  and  neither  sumraoner  nor  sheriff  of  the  king,  or 
armed  force  of  knight  or  earl,  could  enter  there. 

At  last  they  came  to  Crowland  minster,  —  a  va~t  range  of 
high-peaked  buildings,  founded  on  piles  of  oak  and  hazel  driven 
into  the  fen,  —  itself  built  almost  entirely  of  timber  from  the 
Bruneswold ;  barns,  granaries,  stables,  work^-hops,  strangei-'s  hall, 
—  fit  for  the  boundless  hospitality  of  Crowland,  —  infirmary,  re- 
fectory, dormitory,  library,  abbot's  lodgings,  cloisters ;  and  above, 
the  great  minster  towering  up,  a  steep  pile,  half  wood,  half  stone, 
with  narrow  round-headed  windows  and  leaden  roofs ;  and  above 
all  the  great  wooden  tower,  from  which,  on  high  days,  chimed  out 
the  melody  of  the  seven  famous  bells,  which  had  not  their  like  in 
English  land.  Guthlac,  Bartholomew,  and  Bettelm  were  the 
names  of  the  biggest,  Turketul  and  Tatwin  of  the  middle,  and 
Pega  and  Bega  of  the  smallest.  So  says  Ingulf,  who  saw  them 
a  few  years  after  pouring  down  on  his  own  head  in  streams  of 
melted  metal.  Outside  the  minster  walls  were  the  cottages  of 
the  corodiers,  or  laboring  folk  ;  and  beyond  them  again  the  nat- 
ural pai-k  of  grass,  dotted  with  mighty  oaks  and  ashes ;  and,  be- 
yond all  those,  cornlands  of  inexhaustible  fertility,  broken  up  by 
the  good  Abbot  Egelric  some  hundred  years  before,  from  which, 
in  times  of  dearth,  the  monks  of  Crowland  fed  the  people  of  all 
the  neighboring  fens. 

They  went  into  the  great  court-yard.  All  men  wore  quiet,  yet 
all  men  were  busy.  Baking  and  brewing,  carpentering  and  tai- 
loring in  the  workshops,  reading  and  writing  in  the  cloister,  pray- 
ing and  singing  in  the  church,  and  teaching  the  children  in  the 
school-house.  Only  the  ancient  sempects  —  some  near  upon  a 
hundred  and  fifty  years  old  —  wandered  where  they  would,  or 
basked  against  a  sunny  wall,  like  autumn  flies,  with  each  a  young 
monk  to  guide  him,  and  listen  to  his  tattle  of  old  days.  For, 
said  the  laws  of  Turketul  the  good,  "  Nothing  disagreeable  about 
the  affairs  of  the  monastery  shall  be  mentioned  in  their  presence. 
No  person  shall  presume  in  any  way  to  offend  them ;  but  with 
the  greatest  peace  and  tranquillity  they  shall  await  their  end." 

So,  while  the  world  outside  raged,  and  fought,  and  conquered, 
and  i)lundered,  they  within  the  holy  isle  kept  up  some  sort  of 
order,  and  justice,  and  usefulness,  and  love  to  God  and  man. 
And  about  the  yai-ds,  among  the  feet  of  the  monks,  hopped  the 
sacred  ravens,  descendants  of  tho^e  who  brought  back  the  gloves 


192  HERE  WARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

at  St.  Guthlac's  bidding  ;  and  overhead,  under  all  the  eaves,  built 
the  sacred  swallows,  the  descendants  of  those  who  sat  aud  sang 
upon  St.  Guthlac's  slioulders ;  and  when  men  marvelled  thereat, 
he  the  holy  man  replied :  "  Know  that  they  who  live  the  holy  life 
draw  nearer  to  the  birds  of  the  air,  even  as  they  do  to  the  angels 
in  heaven." 

And  Lady  Godiva  called  for  old  Abbot  Ulfketyl,  the  good  and 
brave,  and  fell  upon  his  neck,  and  told  him  all  her  tale ;  and 
Ulfketyl  wept  upon  her  neck,  for  they  were  old  and  faithful 
friends. 

And  they  passed  into  the  dark,  cool  church,  where  in  the  crypt 
under  the  high  altar  lay  the  thumb  of  St.  Bartholomew,  which 
old  Abbot  Turketul  used  to  carry  about,  that  he  might  cross  him- 
self with  it  in  times  of  danger,  tempest,  and  lightning ;  and  some 
of  the  hair  of  St.  Mary,  Queen  of  Heaven,  in  a  box  of  gold ; 
and  a  bone  of  St.  Leodegar  of  Aquitaine  ;  and  some  few  remains, 
too,  of  the  holy  bodies  of  St.  Guthlac ;  and  of  St.  Bettelm,  his 
servant ;  and  St.  Tatwin,  who  steered  him  to  Crowland ;  and  St. 
Egbert,  his  confessor ;  and  St.  Cissa  the  anchorite ;  and  of  the 
most  holy  virgin  St.  Etheldreda ;  and  many  more.  But  little  of 
them  remained  since  Sigtryg  and  Bagsac's  heathen  Danes  had 
heaped  them  pellmell  on  the  floor,  and  burned  the  chui'ch  over 
them  and  the  bodies  of  the  slaughtered  monks. 

The  plunder  which  was  taken  from  Crowland  on  that  evil  day 
lay,  and  lies  still,  with  the  plunder  of  Peterborough  and  many  a 
minster  more,  at  the  bottom  of  the  Nene,  at  Huntingdon  Bridge. 
But  it  had  been  more  than  replaced  by  the  piety  of  the  Danish 
kings  and  nobles  ;  and  above  the  twelve  white  bearskins  which  lay 
at  the  twelve  altars  blazed,  in  the  light  of  many  a  wax  candle, 
gold  and  jewels  inferior  only  to  those  of  Peterborough  and  Cov- 
entry. 

And  there  in  the  nave  they  buried  the  lad  Godwin,  with  chant 
and  dirge ;  and  when  the  funeral  was  done  Hereward  went  up 
toward  the  high  altar,  and  bade  Winter  and  Gwenoch  come  with 
him.  And  there  he  knelt,  and  vowed  a  vow  to  God  and  St. 
Gutlilac  and  the  Lady  Torfrida  his  true  love,  never  to  leave 
from  slaying  while  there  was  a  Frenchman  left  alive  on  English 
ground. 

And  Godiva  and  Ulfketyl  heard  his  vow,  and  shuddered ;  but 
they  dared  not  stop  him,  for  they,  too,  had  English  hearts. 

And  Winter  and  Gwenoch  heard  it,  and  repeated  it  word  for 
word. 

Then  he  kissed  his  mother,  and  called  Winter  and  Gwenoch, 
and  went  forth.  He  would  be  back  again,  he  said,  on  the  third 
day. 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       193 

Then  those  three  went  to  Peterborough,  and  asked  for  Abbot 
Brand.  And  the  monks  let  them  in  ;  for  the  fame  of  their  deed 
had  passed  through  the  forest,  and  all  the  French  had  fled. 

And  old  Brand  lay  back  in  his  great  arm-chair,  his  legs  all 
mutHed  up  in  furs,  for  he  could  get  no  heat ;  and  by  him  stood 
Herluin  the  prior,  and  wondered  when  he  would  die,  and  Thorold 
take  his  place,  and  they  should  drive  out  the  old  Gregorian  chants 
from  the  choir,  and  have  the  new  Norman  chants  of  Robert  of 
Fecamp,  and  bring  in  French-Roman  customs  in  all  things,  and 
rule  the  English  boors  with  a  rod  of  iron. 

And  old  Brand  knew  all  that  was  in  his  heart,  and  looked  up 
like  a  patient  ox  beneath  the  butchei-'s  axe,  and  said,  "•  Have 
patience  with  me.  Brother  Herluin,  and  I  will  die  as  soon  as  I 
can,  and  go  where  there  is  neither  French  nor  English,  Jew  nor 
Gentile,  bond  or  free,  but  all  are  alike  in  the  eyes  of  Him  who 
made  them." 

But  when  he  saw  Hereward  come  in,  he  cast  the  mufflers  off 
him,  and  sprang  up  from  his  chair,  and  was  young  and  strong 
in  a  moment,  and  for  a  moment. 

And  he  threw  his  arms  round  Hereward,  and  wept  upon  his 
neck,  as^his  mother  had  done.  And  Hereward  wept  upon  his 
neck,  though  he  had  not  wept  upon  his  mother's. 

Then  Brand  held  him  at  arms'  length,  or  thought  he  held  him, 
for  he  was  leaning  on  Hereward,  and  tottering  all  the  while ;  and 
extolled  him  as  the  champion,  the  warrior,  the  stay  of  his  house, 
the  avenger  of  his  kin,  the  hero  of  whom  he  had  always  prophe- 
sied that  his  kin  would  need  him,  and  that  then  he  would  not  fail. 

But  Hereward  answered  him  modestly  and  mildly,  — 

"  Speak  not  so  to  me  and  of  me.  Uncle  Brand.  I  am  a  very 
foolish,  vain,  sinful  man,  who  have  come  through  great  adven- 
tures, I  know  not  how,  to  great  and  strange  happiness,  and  now 
again  to  great  and  strange  sorrows  ;  and  to  an  adventure  greater 
and  stranger  than  all  that  has  befallen  me  fi-om  my  youth  up 
until  now.  Therefore  make  me  not  proud.  Uncle  Brand,  but 
keep  me  modest  and  lowly,  as  befits  all  true  knights  and  ])enitent 
siiuiers ;  for  they  tell  me  that  God  resists  the  proud,  and  giveth 
gi-ace  to  the  humble.  And  I  have  that  to  do  which  do  I  cannot, 
unless  God  and  his  saints  give  me  grace  from  this  day  forth." 

Brand  looked  at  him,  astonished  ;  and  then  turned  to  Herluin. 

"  Did  I  not  tell  thee,  prior  ?  This  is  the  lad  whom  you  called 
graceless  and  a  savage ;  and  see,  since  he  has  been  in  foreign 
lands,  and  seen  the  ways  of  knights,  he  talks  as  clei'kly  as  a 
Frenchman,  and  as  piously  as  any  monk." 

"  The  Lord  Hereward,"  said  Herluin,  "  has  doubtless  learned 
much  from  the  manners  of  our  nation  which  he  would  not  have 
9  u 


194  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

learned  in  England.  I  rejoice  to  see  him  returned  so  Christian 
and  so  courtly  a  knight." 

"  The  Lord  Hereward,  Prior  Herluin,  has  learnt  one  thing  in 
his  travels, —  to  know  somewhat  of  men  and  the  hearts  of  men, 
and  to  deal  with  them  as  they  deserve  of  him.  They  tell  me 
that  one  Thorold  of  Malmesbury,  —  Thorold  of  Fecamp,  the 
minstrel,  he  that  made  the  song  of  Rowland,  —  that  he  desires 
this  abbey." 

"  I  have  so  heard,  my  lord." 

"  Then  I  command,  —  I,  Hereward,  Lord  of  Bourne  !  —  that 
this  abbey  be  held  against  him  and  all  Frenchmen,  in  the  name 
of  Swend  Ulfsson,  king  of  England,  and  of  me.  And  he  that 
admits  a  Frenchman  therein,  I  will  shave  his  crown  for  him  so 
well,  that  he  shall  never  need  razor  more.  This  I  tell  thee ;  and 
this  I  shall  tell  your  monks  before  I  go.  And  unless  you  obey 
the  same,  my  dream  will  be  fulfilled  ;  and  you  will  see  Golden- 
bregh  in  a  light  low,  and  burning  yourselves  in  the  midst  thereof." 

"Swend  Ulfsson?  Swend  of  Denmark?  What  words  are 
these  ?  "  cried  Brand. 

"  You  will  know  v/ithin  six  months,  uncle." 

"  I  shall  know  better  things,  my  boy,  before  six  months  are  out." 

"  Uncle,  uncle,  do  not  say  that." 

"  Why  not  ?  If  this  mortal  life  be  at  best  a  prison  and  a  grave, 
what  is  it  worth  now  to  an  Englishman  ?  " 

"  More  than  ever  ;  for  never  had  an  Englishman  such  a  chance 
of  showing  English  mettle,  and  winning  renown  for  the  English 
name.  Uncle,  you  must  do  something  for  me  and  my  comrades 
ere  we  go." 

"  Well,  boy  ?  " 

"  Make  us"^knights." 

"  Knights,  lad?  I  thought  you  had  been  a  belted  knight  this 
dozen  years  ? " 

"  I  miglit  have  been  made  a  knight  by  many,  after  the  French 
fashion,  many  a  year  agone.  I  might  have  been  knight  when  I 
slew  the  white  bear.  Ladies  have  prayed  me  to  be  knighted 
again  and  again  since.  Something  kept  me  from  it.  Perhaps" 
(with  a  glance  at  Herluin)  "I  wanted  to  show  that  an  Eng- 
lish s<jnire  could  be  the  rival  and  the  leader  of  French  and  Flem- 
ish knights." 

"  And  thou  hast  shown  it,  brave  lad  ! "  said  Brand,  clapping  his 
great  hands. 

"  Perhaps  I  longed  to  do  some  mighty  deed  at  last,  which 
would  give  me  a  rigiit  to  go  to  the  braCest  knight  in  all  Christen- 
dom, and  say,  '  Give  me  the  accolade,  then !  Thou  only  art 
worthy  to  knight  as  good  a  man  as  thyself.' " 

"  Pride  and  vainglory,"  said  Brand,  shaliing  his  head. 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH.  195 

"  But  now  I  am  of  a  sounder  mind.  I  see  now  why  I  was 
kept  from  being  knighted,  —  till  I  had  done  a  deed  worthy  of  a 
true  knight ;  till  I  had  mightily  avenged  the  wronged,  and 
mightily  succored  the  oppressed ;  till  I  had  purged  my  soul  of 
my  enmity  against  my  own  kin,  and  could  go  out  into  the  world  a 
new  man,  with  my  mother's  blessing  on  my  head." 

"  But  not  of  the  robberj'-  of  St.  Peter,"  said  Herluin.  The 
French  monk  wanted  not  for  moral  courage,  —  no  French  monk 
did  in  those  days.     And  he  proved  it  by  tliose  words. 

"  Do  not  anger  the  lad.  Prior ;  now,  too,  above  all  times,  when 
his  heart  is  softened  towai'd  the  Lord." 

"  He  has  not  angered  me.  The  man  is  right.  Here,  Lord 
Abbot  and  Sir  Prior,  is  a  chain  of  gold,  won  in  tlie  wars.  It  is 
worth  fifty  times  the  sixteen  pence  which  I  stole,  and  which  I 
rei)aid  double.  Let  St.  Peter  take  it,  for  the  sins  of  me  and  my^ 
two  comrades,  and  forgive.  And  now,  Sir  Prior,  I  do  to  thee 
what  I  never  did  for  mortal  man.  I  kneel,  and  ask  thy  forgive- 
ness.   Kneel,  Winter !    Kneel,  Gwenoch  !  "    And  Hereward  knelt. 

Herluin  was  of  double  mind.  He  longed  to  keep  Hereward  out 
of  St.  Peter's  grace.  He  longed  to  see  Hereward  dead  at  his  feet; 
not  because  of  any  personal  hatred,  but  because  he  foresaw  in  liim 
a  terrible  foe  to  the  Norman  cause.  But  he  wished,  too,  to  involve 
Abbot  Brand  as  much  as  possible  in  Hereward's  "rebellions"  and 
"  misdeeds,"  and  above  all,  in  the  master-offence  of  knighting  him  ; 
for  for  that  end,  he  saw,  Hereward  was  come.  Moreover,  he  was 
touched  with  the  sudden  frankness  and  humility  of  the  famous 
champion.     So  he  answered  mildly,  — 

"  Verily,  thou  hast  a  knightly  soul.  May  God  and  St.  Peter 
so  forgive  thee  and  thy  companions  as  I  forgive  thee,  freely  and 
from  my  heart." 

"  Now,"  cried  Hereward,  "  a  boon  !  a  boon  !  Knight  me  and 
these  my  fellows,  Uncle  Brand,  this  day." 

Brand  was  old  and  weak,  and  looked  at  Herluin. 

"  I  know,"  said  Hereward,  "  that  the  French  look  on  us  Eng- 
lish monk-made  knights  as  spurious  and  adulterine,  unworthy  of 
the  name  of  knight.  But,  I  hold  —  and  what  churchman  will 
gainsay  me?  —  that  it  is  nobler  to  receive  sword  and  belt  from  a 
man  of  God  than  from  a  man  of  blood  like  one's  self;  tho  fittest 
to  consecrate  the  soldier  of  an  earthly  king,  is  the  soldier  of 
Christ,  the  King  of  kings."  * 

"  He  speaks  well,"  said  Herluin.    "  Abbot,  grant  him  his  boon." 

"  Who  celebrates  high  mass  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Wilton  the  priest,  the  monk  of  Ely,"  said  Herluin,  aloud. 
"  And  a  very  dangerous  and  stubborn  Englishman,"  added  he.  to 
himself. 

•  Almost  word  for  word  from  tha  "  Lifo  of  Heroward."  , 


196  HERE  WARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

"  Good.  Then  this  night  you  shall  watch  in  the  church.  To- 
morrow, after  the  Gospel,  the  thing  shall  be  done  as  you  will." 

That  night  two  messengers,  knights  of  the  Abbot,  galloped 
from  Peterborough.  One  to  Ivo  Taillebois  at  Spalding,  to  tell 
hiui  that  Herewanl  wa>  at  Peterborough,  and  that  he  must  try  to 
cut  him  otf  upon  the  Egelric's  road,  the  causeway  which  one  of 
the  many  Abbots  Egelric  had  made,  some  thirty  years  before, 
througli  Deeping  Fen  to  Spalding,  at  an  enormous  expense  of 
labor  and  of  timber.  The  other  knight  rode  south,  along  the 
Roman  road  to  London,  to  tell  King  William  of  the  rising  of 
Kesteven,  and  all  the  evil  deeds  of  Hereward  and  of  Brand. 

And  old  Brand  slept  quietl}'  in  his  bed,  little  thinking  on  what 
errands  his  prior  had  sent  his  knights. 

Herevvard  and  his  comrades  watched  that  night  in  St.  Peter's 
church.  Oppressed  with  weariness  of  body,  and  awe  of  mind, 
they  heard  the  monks  drone  out  their  chants  through  the  misty 
gloom  ;  they  confessed  the  sins  —  and  they  were  many  — of  their 
pa>t  wild  lives.  They  had  to  summon  up  within  themselves  cour- 
age and  sti-ength  henceforth  to  live,  not  for  themselves,  but  for 
the  fatherland  which  they  hojied  to  save.  They  prayed  to  all  the 
heavenly  powers  of  that  Pantlieon  which  then  stood  between  man 
and  God,  to  help  them  in  the  coming  struggle  ;  but  ere  the  morn- 
ing dawned,  they  were  nodding,  unused  to  any  long  strain  of  mind. 

Suddenly  Hereward  started,  and  sprang  up,  with  a  cry  of  tire. 

"  What  ?  Where  ?  "  cried  his  comrades,  and  the  monks  who 
ran  up. 

"  The  minster  is  full  of  flame.  No  use !  too  late  !  you  cannot 
put  it  out !     It  must  burn." 

"  You  have  been  dreaming,"  said  one. 

"  I  have  not,"  said  Hereward.     '•  Is  it  Lammas  night  ?  " 

"  What  a  question  !  It  is  the  vigil  of  the  Nativity  of  St.  Peter 
and  St.  Paul." 

"  Thank  heaven  !  I  thought  my  old  Lammas  night's  dream  was 
coming  true  at  last." 

Herluin  heard,  and  knew  what  he  meant. 

After  which  Hereward  was  silent,  filled  with  many  thoughts. 

The  next  morning,  before  the  high  mass,  those  three  brave 
men  walked  up  to  the  altar ;  laid  thereon  their  belts  and  swords ; 
and  then  knelt  humbly  at  the  foot  of  the  steps  till  the  Gospel  was 
finislied. 

Then  came  down  from  the  altar  Wilton  of  Ely,  and  laid  on 
each  man's  bare  neck  the  bare  blade,  and  bade  him  take  back 
his  sword  in  the  name  of  God  and  of  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul  and 
use  it  like  a  true  knight,  for  a  terror  and  punishment  to  evil-doers, 
and  a  defence  for  women  and  orphans,  and  the  poor  and  the  op- 
pressed, and  tlie  monks  the  servants  of  God. 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       197 

And  then  the  monks  girded  each  man  with  his  belt  and  sword 
once  more.  And  after  mass  was  sung,  they  rose  and  went  forth, 
each  feeling  himself —  and  surely  not  in  vain  —  a  better  man. 

At  least  this  is  certain,  that  Hereward  would  say  to  his  dying 
day,  how  he  had  often  proved  that  none  would  fight  so  well  as 
those  who  had  received  their  sword  from  God's  kniglits  the  monks. 
And  therefore  he  would  have,  in  after  years,  almost  all  his  com- 
panions knighted  by  the  monks  ;  and  brought  into  Ely  with  him 
that  same  good  custom  which  he  had  learnt  at  Peterborough,  and 
kept  it  up  as  long  as  he  held  the  isle. 

So  says  the  chronicler  Leofric,  the  minstrel  and  priest. 

It  was  late  when  they  got  back  to  Crowland.  The  good  Abbot 
received  them  with  a  troubled  face. 

"  As  I  feared,  my  Lord,  you  have  been  too  hot  and  hasty.  The 
French  have  raised  the  country  against  you." 

"  I  have  raised  it  against  them,  my  lord.  But  we  have  news 
that  Sir  Frederick  —  " 

"  And  who  may  he  be  ?  " 

*'  A  very  terrible  Goliath  of  these  French  ;  old  and  crafty,  a 
brother  of  old  Earl  Warrenne  of  Norfolk,  whom  God  confound. 
And  he  has  sworn  to  have  your  life,  and  has  gathered  knights  and 
men-at-arms  at  Lynn  in  Norfolk." 

"  Very  good  ;  I  will  visit  him  as  I  go  home,  Lord  Abbot.  Not 
a  woi'd  of  this  to  any  soul." 

"  I  tremble  for  thee,  thou  young  David." 

"  One  cannot  live  forever,  my  lord.     Farewell." 

A  week  after,  a  boatman  brought  news  to  Crowland,  how  Sir 
Frederick  was  sitting  in  his  inn  at  Lynn,  when  there  came  in  one 
with  a  sword,  and  said :  "  I  am  Hereward.  I  was  told  that  thou 
didst  desire,  greatly,  to  see  me ;  therefore  I  am  come,  being  a 
courteous  knight,"  and  therewith  smote  off  his  head.  And  when 
the  knights  and  others  would  have  stopped  him,  he  cut  his  way 
through  them,  killing  some  three  or  four  at  each  stroke,  himself 
unliurt ;  for  he  was  clothed  from  head  to  foot  in  magic  armor, 
and  whosoever  smote  it,  their  swords  melted  in  their  hands. 
And  so,  gaining  the  door,  he  vanished  in  a  great  cloud  of  sea-fowl, 
that  cried  foi'ever,  "  Hereward  is  come  home  again  ! " 

And  after  that,  the  fen-men  said  to  each  other,  that  all  the 
birds  upon  the  meres  cried  nothing,  save  "Hereward  is  come 
home  again  ! " 

And  so,  already  surrounded  with  myth  and  mystery,  Here- 
ward flashed  into  the  fens  and  out  again,  like  the  lightning  brand, 
destroying  as  he  passed.  And  the  hearts  of  all  the  French  were 
turned  to  water ;  and  the  land  had  peace  from  its  tyrants  for 
many  days. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 


HOW  IVO   TAILLEBOIS   MARCHED   OUT   OF   SPALDING  TOWN. 

A  PROUD  man  was  Ivo  Taillebois,  as  he  rode  next  morning  out 
of  Spalding  town,  with  hawk  on  fist,  and  hound  at  heel,  and  a 
dozen  men-at-arms  at  his  back,  who  would,  on  due  or  undue  cause 
shown,  hunt  men  while  he  hunted  game. 

An  adventurer  from  Anjou,  brutal,  ignorant,  and  profligate,  — 
low-born,  too  (for  Iiis  own  men  whispered,  behind  his  back,  that 
he  was  no  more  than  his  name  hinted,  a  wood-cutter's  son),  he  still 
had  his  deserts.  Valiant  he  was,  cunning,  and  skilled  in  war. 
He  and  his  troop  of  Angevine  ruttiers  had  fought  like  tigers  by 
William's  side,  at  Hastings ;  and  he  had  been  rewarded  with 
many  a  manor,  which  had  been  Earl  Algar's,  and  should  now 
harve  been  Earl  Edwin's,  or  Morcar's,  or,  it  may  be,  Herewai'd's 
own. 

"  A  fat  land  and  fair,"  said  he  to  himself;  "  and,  after  I  have 
hanged  a  few  more  of  these  barbarians,  a  peaceful  fief  enough 
to  hand  down  to  the  lawful  heirs  of  my  body,  if  I  had  one.  I 
must  marry.  Blessed  Virgin  !  this  it  is  to  serve  and  honor  your 
gracious  majesty,  as  I  have  always  done  according  to  my  poor 
humility.  Who  would  have  thought  that  Ivo  Taillebois  would 
ever  rise  so  high  in  life  as  to  be  looking  out  for  a  vpife,  —  and 
that  a  lady,  too?" 

Then  thought  he  over  the  peerless  beauties  of  the  Lady  Lucia, 
Edwin  and  Morcar's  sister,  almost  as  fair  as  that  hapless  aunt  of 
hers,  —  first  married  (though  that  story  is  now  denied)  to  the 
wild  Griffin,  Prince  of  Snowdon,  and  then  to  his  conqueror,  and 
(by  complicity)  murderer,  Harold,  the  hapless  king.  Eddeva 
faira,  Eddeva  pulcra,  stands  her  name  in  Domesday-book  even 
now,  known,  even  to  her  Norman  conquerors,  as  the  Beauty  of 
her  time,  as  Godiva,  her  mother,  had  been  before  her.  Scarcely 
less  beautiful  was  Lucia,  as  Ivo  had  seen  her  at  William's  court, 
half  captive  and  half  guest :  and  he  longed  for  her ;  love  her  he 
could  not.  "  I  have  her  father's  lands,"  quoth  he  ;  "  what  more 
reasonable  than  to  have  the  daughter,  too  ?  And  have  her  I  will, 
unless  the  Mamzer,  in  his  present  merciful  and  politic  mood,  makes 
a  Countess  of  her,  and  marries  her  up  to  some  Norman  coxcomb, 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       199 

with  a  long  pedigree,  —  invented  the  year  before  last.  If  he 
does  throw  away  his  daughter  on  that  Earl  Edwin,  in  his  fancy 
for  petting  and  patting  these  savages  into  good  humor,  he  is 
not  likely  to  throw  away  Edwin's  sister  on  a  Taillebois.  Well, 
I  must  put  a  spoke  in  Edwin's  wheel.  It  will  not  be  difficult  to 
make  him,  or  Morcar,  or  both  of  them,  traitors.  We  must  have 
a  rebellion  in  these  parts.  I  will  talk  about  it  to  Gilbert  of 
Ghent.  We  must  make  these  savages  desperate,  and  William 
furious,  or  he  will  be  soon  giving  them  back  their  lands,  beside 
asking  them  to  Court :  and  then,  how  are  valiant  knights,  like  us, 
who  have  won  England  for  him,  to  be  paid  for  their  trouble  ? 
No,  no.  We  must  have  a  rebellion,  and  a  confiscation,  and  then, 
when  English  lasses  are  going  cheap,  perhaps  the  Lady  Lucia 
may  fall  to  my  share." 

And  Ivo  Taillebois  kept  his  word  ;  and  without  difficulty,  for 
he  had  many  to  help  him.  To  drive  the  English  to  desperation, 
and  get  a  pretext  for  seizing  their  lands,  was  the  game  which  the 
Normans  played,  and  but  too  well. 

As  he  rode  out  of  Spalding  town,  a  man  was  being  hanged  on 
the  gallows  there  permanently  provided. 

That  was  so  common  a  sight,  that  Ivo  would  not  have  stopped, 
had  not  a  priest,  who  was  comforting  the  criminal,  ran  forward, 
and  almost  thrown  himself  under  the  horse's  feet. 

"  Mercy,  good  my  Lord,  in  the  name  of  God  and  all  his 
saints  ! " 

Ivo  went  to  ride  on. 

"  Mercy  ! "  and  he  laid  hands  on  Ivo's  bridle.  "  If  he  took  a 
.few  pike  out  of  your  mere,  remember  that  the  mere  was  his,  and 
his  father's  before  him ;  and  do  not  send  a  sorely  tempted  soul 
out  of  the  world  for  a  paltry  pike." 

"  And  where  am  I  to  get  fish  for  Lent,  Sir  Priest,  if  every 
rascal  nets  my  waters,  because  his  father  did  so  before  him  ? 
Take  your  hand  off  my  bridle,  or,  par  le  splendeur  Dex"  (Ivo 
thounjht  it  fine  to  use  King  William's  favorite  oath),  "  I  will  hew 
it  off." 

The  priest  looked  at  him,  with  something  of  honest  English 
fierceness  in  his  eyes,  and  dropping  the  bridle,  muttered  to  him- 
self in  Latin :  "  The  bloodthirsty  and  deceitful  man  shall  not  live 
out  half  his  days.  Nevertheless  my  trust  shall  be  in  Thee,  O 
Lord  !  " 

"What  art  muttering,  beast?  Go  home  to  thy  wife"  (wife 
was  by  no  means  the  word  which  Ivo  used)  "  and  make  the  most 
of  her,  before  I  rout  out  thee  and  thy  fellow-canons,  and  put  in 
good  monks  from  Normandy  in  the  place  of  your  drunken  Eng- 
lish swine.     Hang  him ! "  shouted  he,  as  the  by-standers  fell  on 


200  HERE  WARD,  THE   LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

their  knees  before  the  tyrant,  crouching  in  terror,  every  woman 
for  her  husband,  every  man  for  wife  and  daughter.  "And  hearken, 
you  fen-frogs  all.  Who  touclies  pike  or  eel,  swimming  or  wading 
fowl,  within  the.-e  nieres  of  mine,  without  my  leave,  I  will  hang 
him  as  I  hanged  this  man,  —  as  I  hanged  four  brothers  in  a  row 
on  Wrokesham  bridge  but  yesterday." 

"  Go  to  Wrokeshara  bridge  and  see,"  shouted  a  shrill  cracked 
voice  from  behind  the  crowd. 

All  looked  round ;  and  more  than  one  of  Ivo's  men  set  up  a 
yell,  the  hangman  loudest  of  all. 

"  That 's  he,  the  heron,  again  !  Catch  him  !  Stop  him  !  Shoot 
him ! " 

But  that  was  not  so  easy.  As  Ivo  pushed  his  horse  through 
the  crowd,  careless  of  whom  he  crushed,  he  saw  a  long  lean 
figure  flying  through  the  air  seven  feet  aloft,  with  his  heels  higher 
than  his  head,  on  tlie  further  side  of  a  deep  broad  ditch ;  and  on 
the  nearer  side  of  the  same  one  of  his  best  men  lying  stark,  with 
a  cloven  skull. 

"  Go  to  Wrokesham  !  "  shrieked  the  lean  man,  as  he  rose  and 
showed  a  ridiculously  long  nose,  nerk,  and  legs,  —  a  type  still  not 
uncommon  in  the  fens,  —  a  quilted  leather  coat,  a  double-bladed 
axe  slung  over  his  shoulder  by  a  thong,  a  round  shield  at  his  back, 
and  a  pole  thi-ee  times  as  long  as  himself,  which  he  dragged  after 
him,  like  an  unwieldy  tail. 

"  The  heron  !  the  heron  !  "  shouted  the  English. 

"  Follow^  him,  men,  heron  or  hawk ! "  shouted  Ivo,  galloping 
his  horse  up  to  the  ditch,  and  stopping  short  at  fifteen  feet  of 
water. 

"  Shoot,  some  one  !     Where  are  the  bows  gone  ?  " 

The  heron  was  gone  two  hundred  yards,  running,  in  spite  of 
his  pole,  at  a  wonderful  pace,  before  a  bow  could  be  brought  to 
bear.  He  seemed  to  expect  an  arrow  ;  for  he  stopped;  glanced 
his  eye  round,  threw  himself  flat  on  his  face,  with  his  shield,  not 
over  his  body,  but  over  his  bare  legs ;  sprang  up  as  the  shaft 
stuck  in  the  ground  beside  him,  ran  on,  planted  his  pole  in  the 
next  dike,  and  flew  over  it. 

In  a  few  minutes  he  was  beyond  pursuit ;  and  Ivo  turned, 
breathless  with  rage,  to  ask  who  he  was. 

"  Alas,  sir !  he  is  the  man  who  set  free  the  four  men  at  Wrokes- 
ham Bridge  last  night." 

"  Set  free  !     Are  they  not  hanged  and  dead  ?  " 

"  We  —  we  dare  not  tell  you.     But  he  came  upon  us  — " 

"  Single-handed,  you  cowards  ?  " 

"  Sir,  he  is  not  a  man,  but  a  witch  or  a  devih  He  asked  us 
what  we  did  there.     One  of  our  men  lauehed  at  his  long  neck 


HEREWARD,  THE   LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH.  201 

and  legs,  and  called  him  heron.  'Heron  I  am,'  says  he, 'and 
strike  like  a  heron,  right  at  the  eyes ' ;  and  with  that  he  cuts  the 
man  over  the  face  with  his  axe,  and  laid  him  dead,  and  then 
another,  and  another. ' 

'•  Till  you  all  ran  away,  villains  !  " 

"  We  gave  back  a  step,  —  no  more.  And  he  freed  one  of  those 
four,  and  he  again  the  rest;  and  tlien  they  all  set  on  us,  and  went 
to  hang  us  in  their  own  stead." 

"  AVhen  there  were  ten  of  you,  I  thought  ?  " 

"  Sir,  as  we  told  you,  he  is  no  mortal  man,  but  a  fiend." 

"  Beasts,  fools !  Well,  I  have  hanged  this  one,  at  least ! " 
growled  Ivo,  and  then  rode  sullenly  on. 

"  Who  is  this  fellow  ?  "  cried  he  to  the  trembling  English. 

"  Wulfric  Raher,  Wulfric  the  Heron,  of  Wrokesham  in  Nor- 
folk." 

"  Aha !  And  I  hold  a  manor  of  his,"  said  Ivo  to  himself. 
"  Look  you,  villains,  this  fellow  is  in  league  with  you." 

A  burst  of  abject  denial  followed.  "  Since  the  French,  —  since 
Sir  Frederick,  as  they  call  him,  drove  him  out  of  his  Wrokes- 
ham lands,  he  wanders  the  country,  as  you  see :  to-day  here,  but 
Heaven  only  knows  where  he  will  be  to-morrow." 

"  And  finds,  of  course,  a  friend  everywhere.  Now  march ! " 
And  a  string  of  threats  and  curses  followed. 

It  was  hard  to  see  why  Wulfric  should  not  have  found  friends ; 
as  he  was  simply  a  small  holder,  or  squire,  driven  out  of  house 
and  land,  and  turned  adrift  on  the  wide  world,  for  the  offence  of 
having  fought  in  Harold's  army  at  the  battle  of  Hastings.  But 
to  give  him  food  or  shelter  was,  in  Norman  eyes,  an  act  of  rebel- 
lion against  the  rightful  King  William  ;  and  Ivo  rode  on,  boiling 
over  with  righteous  indignation,  along  the  narrow  drove  which 
led  toward  Deeping. 

A  pretty  lass  came  along  the  drove,  driving  a  few  sheep  before 
her,  and  spinning  as  she  walked. 

"  Whose  lass  are  you  ?  "  shouted  Ivo. 

"The  Abbot's  of  Crowland,  please  your  lordship,"  said  she, 
trembling. 

"  Much  too  pretty  to  belong  to  monks.  Chuck  her  up'  behind 
you,  one  of  you." 

The  shrieking  and  struggling  girl  was  mounted  behind  a  horse- 
man and  bound,  and  Ivo  rude  on. 

A  woman  ran  out  of  a  turf-hut  on  the  drove  side,  attracted  by 
the  girl's  cries.     It  was  her  mother. 

'"  My  lass !  Give  me  my  lass,  for  the  love  of  St.  Mary  and 
all  saints  !  "  and  she  clung  to  Ivo's  bridle. 

He  struck  her  down,  and  rode  on  over  her. 
9* 


202  HEREWARD,   THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

A  man  cutting  sedges  in  a  punt  in  the  lode  alongside  looked 
up  at  the  girl's  shrieks,  and  leapt  on  shore,  scythe  in  hand. 

"Father!  father!"  cried  she. 

"  I  '11  rid  thee,  lass,  or  die  for  it,"  said  he,  as  he  sprang  up  the 
drove-dike  and  swept  right  and  left  at  the  horses'  legs. 

The  men  recoiled.  One  horse  went  down,  lamed  for  life ; 
another  staggered  backwards  into  the  further  lode,  and  was 
drowned.  But  an  arrow  went  tlirough  the  brave  serf's  heart, 
and  Ivo  rode  on,  cursing  more  bitterly  than  ever,  and  comforted 
himself  by  flying  his  hawks  at  a  covey  of  patridges. 

Soon  a  group  came  along  the  drove  which  promised  fresh  sport 
to  the  man-hunters  :  but  as  the  foremost  person  came  up,  Ivo 
stopped  in  wonder  at  the  shout  of,  — 

"  Ivo  !  Ivo  Taillebois  !  Halt  and  have  a  care  !  The  English 
are  risen,  and  we  are  all  dead  men  ! " 

The  words  were  spoken  in  French  ;  and  in  French  Ivo  an- 
swered, laughing,  — 

"  Thou  art  not  a  dead  man  yet  it  seems,  Sir  Robert ;  art  going 
on  pilgrimage  to  Jerusalem,  that  thou  come-t  in  this  fashion  ?  Or 
dost  mean  to  return  to  Anjou  as  bare  as  thou  camest  out  of  it?" 

For  Sir  Robert  had,  like  Edgar,  "reserved  himself  a  blanket, 
else  had  we  all  been  sliamed." 

But  very  little  more  did  either  he,  his  lady,  and  his  three  chil- 
dren wear,  as  they  trudged  along  the  drove,  in  even  poorer  case 
than  that 

Robert  of  Coninsjsby, 
Who  came  out  of  Normandy, 
With  his  wife  Tiffany, 
And  his  maid  Manpas, 
And  his  dog  Hardigras. 

"  For  the  love  of  heaven  and  all  chivalry,  joke  me  no  jokes, 
Sir  Ivo,  but  give  me  antl  mine  clothes  and  food  !  The  barbarians 
rose  on  us  last  night,  —  with  Azer,  the  ruffian  who  owned  my 
lands,  at  their  head,  and  drove  us  out  into  the  night  as  we  are, 
bidding  us  carry  the  news  to  you,  for  your  turn  would  come  next. 
There  are  forty  or  more  of  them  in  West  Deeping  now,  and 
coming  eastward,  they  say,  to  visit  you,  and,  what  is  more  than 
all,  Hereward  is  come  again." 

"  Hereward  !  "  cried  Ivo,  who  knew  that  name  well. 

Whereon  Sir  Robert  told  him  the  terrible  tragedy  of  Bourne. 

"  Mount  the  lady  on  a  horse,  and  wrap  her  in  my  cloak.  Get 
that  dead  villain's  clothes  for  Sir  Robert  as  we  go  back.  Put 
your  horses'  heads  about  and  ride  for  Spalding." 

"  What  shall  we  do  with  the  lass  ?  " 

"  We  cannot  be  burdened  with  the  jade.  She  has  cost  us  two 
good  horses  already.     Leave  her  in  the  road,  bound  as  she  is, 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  203 

and  let  us  see  if  St.  Guthlac  her  master  will  come  and  untie 
her." 

So  they  rode  back.  Coming  from  Deeping  two  hours  after, 
Azer  and  his  men  found  the  girl  on  the  road,  dead. 

"  Another  count  in  the  long  score,"  quoth  Azer.  But  when, 
in  two  hours  more,  they  came  to  Spalding  town,  they  found  all 
tlie  folk  upon  the  street,  shouting  and  praising  the  host  of  Heaven. 
There  was  not  a  Frenchman  left  in  the  town. 

For  when  Ivo  returned  home,  ere  y.-t  Sir  Robert  and  his  fam- 
ily were  well  clothed  and  fed,  there  gallojied  into  Sp;ilding  from 
the  north  Sir  Ascelin,  nephew  and  man  of  Thorold,  would-be 
Abbot  of  Peterborough,  and  one  of  the  garrison  of  Lincoln,  which 
was  then  held  by  Hereward's  old  friend,  Gilbert  of  Ghent. 

"  Not  bad  news,  I  hope,"  cried  Ivo,  as  Ascelin  clanked  into  the 
hall.  "  We  have  enough  of  our  own.  Here  is  all  Kesteven,  as 
the  barbarians  call  it,  risen,  and  they  are  murdering  us  right  and 
left." 

"  Worse  news  than  that,  Ivo  Taillebois,"  ("  Sir,"  or  "  Sieur," 
Ascelin  was  loath  to  call  him,  being  himself  a  man  of  family  and 
fashion ;  and  holding  the  nouveaux  venus  in  deep  contempt,) 
— "  worse  news  than  that :  the  North  has  risen  again,  and  pro- 
claimed Prince  Edgar   King." 

"  A  king  of  words  !  What  care  I,  or  you,  as  long  as  The  Mam- 
zer,  God  bless  him  !   is  a  king  of  deeds  'i  " 

"  They  have  done  their  deeds,  though,  too.  Gospatrick  and 
Merlesweyn  are  back  out  of  Scotland.  They  attacked  Roljert  de 
Comines*  at  Durham,  and  burnt  him  in  his  own  house.  There 
was  but  one  of  his  men  got  out  of  Durham  to  tell  the  news.  And 
now  they  have  marched  on  York  ;  and  all  the  chiefs,  they  say, 
have  joined  them,  —  Archill  the  Thane,  and  Edwin  and  Morcar, 
and  Waltlieof  too,  the  young  traitors." 

"  Blessed  Virgin  !  "  cried  Ivo,  "  thou  art  indeed  gracious  to  thy 
most  unworthy  knight ! " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  You  will  see  some  day.  Now,  I  will  tell  you  but  one  word. 
When  fools  make  hay,  wise  men  can  build  ricks.  This  rebellion, 
—  if  it  had  not  come  of  itself,  I  would  have  roused  it.  We 
wanted  it,  to  cure  William  of  this  just  and  benevolent  policy  of 
his,  which  would  have  ended  in  sending  us  back  to  France  as 
poor  as  we  left  it.  Now,  what  am  I  expected  to  do  ?  What  says 
Gilbert  of  Ghent,  the  wise  man  of  Lie  —  nic  —  what  the  pest  do 
you  call  that  outlandish  place,  which  no  civilized  lips  can  pro- 
nounce ?  " 

♦  Ancestor  of  the  Comyns  of  Scotland. 


204       HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

"  Lic-nic-cole  ? "  replied  Ascelin,  who,  like  the  rest  of  the 
French,  never  could  manage  to  say  Lincoln. 

"  He  says,  '  March  to  me,  and  with  me  to  join  the  king  at 
York.' " 

"  Then  he  says  well.  These  fat  acres  will  be  none  the  leaner, 
if  I  leave  the  English  slaves  to  crop  them  for  six  months.  Men  ! 
arm  and  horse  Sir  Robert  of  Deeping.  Then  arm  and  horse 
yourselves.  We  march  north  in  half  an  hour,  bag  and  baggage, 
scrip  and  scrippage.  You  are  all  bachelors,  like  me,  and  travel 
light.     So  off  with  you  !  " 

"  Sir  AeceHn,  you  will  eat  and  drink?" 

"  That  will  I." 

"  Quick,  then,  butler  !  and  after  that  pack  up  the  Englishman's 
plate-chest,  which  we  inherited  by  right  of  fist,  —  the  only  plate 
and  the  only  title-deeds  I  ever  possessed." 

"  Now,  Sir  Ascelin,"  —  as  the  three  knights,  the  lady,  and  the 
poor  children  ate  their  fastest,  —  "  listen  to  me.  The  art  of  war 
lies  in  this  one  nutshell,  —  to  put  the  greatest  number  of  men  into 
one  place  at  one  time,  and  let  all  other  places  shift.  To  strike 
swiftly,  and  strike  heavily.  That  is  the  rule  of  our  liege  lord, 
King  William  ;  and  by  it  he  will  conquer  England,  or  the  world, 
if  he  will ;  and  while  he  does  that,  he  shall  never  say  that  Ivo 
Taillebois  stayed  at  home  to  guard  his  own  manors  while  he  could 
join  his  king,  and  win  all  the  manors  of  England  once  and  for 
all." 

"  Pardieu  !  whatever  men  may  say  of  thy  lineage  or  thy  vir- 
tues, they  cannot  deny  this,  —  that  thou  art  a  most  wise  and  val- 
iant captain." 

"  That  am  I,"  quoth  Taillebois,  too  much  pleased  with  the 
praise  to  care  about  being  tutoye  by  younger  men.  "  As  for  my 
lineage,  my  lord  the  king  has  a  fellow-feeling  for  upstarts ;  and 
the  woodman's  grandson  may  very  well  serve  the  tanner's.  Now, 
men !  is  the  litter  ready  for  the  lady  and  children  ?  I  am  sorry 
to  rattle  you  about  thus,  madame,  but  war  has  no  courtesies ;  and 
march  I  must." 

And  so  the  French  went  out  of  Spalding  town. 

"  Don't  be  in  a  hurry  to  thank  your  saints !  "  shouted  Ivo  to 
his  victims.  "  I  shall  be  back  this  day  three  months  ;  and  then 
you  shall  see  a  row  of  gibbets  all  the  way  from  here  to  Deeping, 
and  an  Englishman  hanging  on  every  one." 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

HOW   HEREWARD   SAILED   FOR   ENGLAND   ONCE   AND   FOR   ALL. 

So  Hereward  fought  the  Viscount  of  Pinkney,  who  had  the 
usual  luck  which  befell  those  who  crossed  swords  with  him,  and 
plotted  meanwhile  with  Gyda  and  the  Countess  Judith.  Abbot 
Egelsin  sent  them  news  from  King  Sweyn  in  Denmark ;  soon 
Judith  and  Tosti's  two  sons  went  themselves  to  Sweyn,  and  helped 
the  plot  and  the  fitting  out  of  the  armament.  News  they  had 
from  England  in  plenty,  b}'  messengers  fi'om  Queen  Matilda  to 
the  sister  who  was  intriguing  to  dethrone  her  husband,  and  by 
private  messengers  from  Durham  and  from  York. 

Baldwin,  the  debonnaire  marquis,  had  not  lived  to  see  this  fruit 
of  his  long  efforts  to  please  everybody.  He  had  gone  to  his  rest 
the  year  before ;  and  now  there  ruled  in  Bruges  his  son,  Baldwin 
tlie  Good,  "  Count  Palatine,"  as  he  styled  himself,  and  his  wife 
Richilda,  the  Lady  of  Hainault. 

They  probably  cared  as  little  for  the  success  of  their  sister 
Matilda  as  they  did  for  that  of  their  sister  Judith ;  and  followed 
out  —  Baldwin  at  least  —  the  great  marquis's  plan  of  making 
Flanders  a  retreat  for  the  fugitives  of  all  the  countries  round. 

At  least,  if  (as  seems)  Sweyn's  fleet  made  the  coast  of  Flan- 
ders its  rendezvous  and  base  of  operations  against  King  William, 
Baldwin  offered  no  resistance. 

So  the  messengers  came,  and  the  plots  went  on.  Great  was 
the  de^ght  of  Hereward  and  the  ladies  when  they  heard  of  the 
taking  of  Durham  and  York ;  but  bitter  their  surprise  and  rage 
when  they  heard  that  Gospatrick  and  the  Confederates  had  pro- 
claimed Edgar  Atheling  king. 

"  Fools  !  they  will  ruin  all !  "  cried  Gyda.  "  Do  they  expect 
Swend  U Ifsson,  who  never  moved  a  finger  yet,  unless  he  saw  that 
it  would  pay  him  within  the  hour,  to  spend  blood  and  treasure  in 
putting  that  puppet  boy  upon  the  throne  instead  of  himself?" 

"  Calm  yourself,  great  Countess,"  said  Hereward,  with  a  smile. 
"  The  man  who  puts  him  on  the  throne  will  find  it  very  easy  to 
take  him  off  again  when  he  needs." 

"  Pish  1 "  said  Gyda.  "  He  must  put  him  on  the  throne  first. 
And  how  will  he  do  that  ?    Will  the  men  of  the  Danelagh,  much 


206       HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

less  the  Northumbrians,  ever  rally  round  an  Atheling  of  Cerdic'a 
house  ?  They  are  raising  a  Wessex  army  in  Northumbria ;  a 
southern  army  in  the  north.  There  is  no  real  loyalty  there 
toward  the  Atheling,  not  even  the  tie  of  kin,  as  therewould  be  to 
Swend.  The  boy- is  a  mere  stalking-horse,  behind  which  each  of 
these  greedy  chiefs  expects  to  get  back  his  own  lands ;  and  if  they 
can  get  them  back  by  any  other  means,  well  and  good.  Mark  my 
words,  Sir  Hereward,  that  cunning  Frenchman  will  treat  with 
them  one  by  one,  and  betray  them  one  by  one,  till  there  is  none 
left." 

How  far  Gyda  was  right  will  be  seen  hereafter.  But  a  less 
practised  diplomat  than  the  great  Countess  might  have  speculated 
reasonably  on  such  an  event. 

At  least,  let  this  be  said,  that  when  historians  have  complained 
of  the  treachery  of  King  Swend  Ulfsson  and  his  Danes,  they 
have  forgotten  certain  broad  and  simple  facts. 

Swend  sailed  for  England  to  take  a  kingdom  which  he  believed 
to  be  his  by  right ;  which  he  had  formerly  demanded  of  William. 
When  he  arrived  there,  he  found  himself  a  mere  cat's-paw  for 
recovering  that  kingdom  for  an  incapable  boy,  whom  he  believed 
to  have  no  right  to  the  throne  at  all. 

Then  came  darker  news.  As  Ivo  had  foreseen,  and  as  Ivo 
had  done  his  best  to  bring  about,  William  dashed  on  York,  and 
drove  out  the  Confederates  with  terrible  slaughter  ;  profaned  the 
churches,  plundered  the  town.  Gospatrick  and  the  earls  retreated 
to  Durham ;  the  Atheling,  more  cautious,  to  Scotland. 

Then  came  a  sti-ange  story,  worthy  of  the  grown  children  who, 
in  those  old  times,  bore  the  hearts  of  boys  with  the  ferocity  and 
intellect  of  men. 

A  great  fog  fell  on  the  Frenchmen  as  they  struggled  over  the 
Durhaui  moors.  The  doomed  city  was  close  beneath  them ;  they 
heard  Wear  roaring  in  his  wooded  gorge.  But  a  darkness,  as  of 
Egypt,  lay  upon  them :  "  neither  rose  any  from  his  place.j 

Then  the  Frenchmen  cried :  "  This  darkness  is  from  St.  Cuth- 
bert  himself.  We  have  invaded  his  holy  soil.  Who  has  not 
lipard  how  none  who  offend  St.  Cuthbert  ever  went  unpunished  ? 
how  palsy,  blindness,  madness,  fall  on  those  who  dare  to  violate 
his  sanctuary  ?  " 

And  the  French  turned  and  fled  from  before  the  face  of  St. 
Cuthbert;  and  William  went  down  to  Winchester  angry  and  sad, 
and  then  went  otf  to  Gloucestersliire  ;  and  hunted  —  for,  what- 
ever befell,  he  still  would  hunt  —  in  the  forest  of  Dean. 

And  still  Swend  and  his  Danes  had  not  sailed  ;  and  Here- 
ward walked  to  and  fro  in  his  house,  impatiently,  and  bided  his 
time. 


HEEEWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       207 

In  July,  Baldwin  died.  Arnoul,  the  boy,  was  Count  of  Flan- 
ders, and  Richilda,  his  sorceress-mother,  ruled  the  land  in  his 
name.  She  began  to  oppress  the  Flemings  ;  not  those  of  French 
Flanders,  round  St.  Omer,  but  those  of  Flemish  Flanders,  toward 
the  north.  They  threatened  to  send  for  Robert  the  Frison  to 
right  thera. 

Hereward  was  perplexed.  He  was  Robert  the  Frison's  friend, 
and  old  soldier.  Richilda  was  Torfrida's  friend  ;  so  was,  still 
more,  the  boy  Arnold  ;  which  party  should  he  take  ?  Neither, 
if  he  could  help  it.     And  he  longed  to  be  safe  out  of  the  land. 

And  at  last  his  time  came.  Martin  Lightfoot  ran  in,  breath- 
less, to  tell  how  the  sails  of  a  mighty  fleet  were  visible  from  the 
Dunes. 

"  Here  ?  "  cried  Hereward.  "  What  are  the  fools  doing  down 
here,  wandering  into  the  very  jaws  of  the  wolf?  How  will  they 
land  here  ?  They  were  to  have  gone  straight  to  the  Lincoln- 
shire coast.     God  grant  this  mistake  be  not  the  first  of  dozens  ! " 

Hereward  went  into  Torfrida's  bower. 

"  This  is  an  evil  business.  The  Danes  are  here,  where  they 
have  no  business,  instead  of  being  off  Scheldtmouth,  as  I  entreated 
them.  But  go  we  must,  or  be  forever  shamed.  Now,  true  wife, 
are  you  ready  ?  Dare  you  leave  home  and  kin  and  friends,  once 
and  for  all,  to  go,  you  know  not  whither,  with  one  who  may  be  a 
gory  corpse  by  this  day  week  ?  " 

"  I  dare,"  said  she. 

So  they  went  down  to  Calais  by  night,  with  Torfrida's  mother, 
and  all  their  jewels,  and  all  they  had  in  the  world.  And  their 
housecarles  went  with  them,  forty  men,  tried  and  trained,  who 
had  vowed  to  follow  Hereward  round  the  world.  And  there 
were  two  long  ships  ready,  and  twenty  good  mariners  in  each. 
So  when  the  Danes  made  the  South  Foreland  the  next  morning, 
they  were  aware  of  two  gallant  ships  bearing  down  on  them,  with 
a  great  white  bear  embroidered  on  their  sails. 

A  proud  man  was  Hereward  that  day,  as  he  sailed  into  the 
midst  of  the  Danish  fleet,  and  up  to  the  royal  ships,  and  shouted : 
"  I  am  Hereward  the  Berserker,  and  I  come  to  take  service 
under  my  rightful  lord,  Sweyn,  king  of  England." 

"  Come  on  board,  then  ;  we  know  you  well,  and  right  glad  we 
are  to  have  Hereward  with  us." 

And  Hereward  laid  his  ship's  bow  upon  the  quarter  of  the 
royal  ship  (to  lay  alongside  was  impossible,  for  fear  of  breaking 
oars),  and  came  on  board. 

"  And  thou  art  Hereward  ?  "  asked  a  tall  and  noble  warrior. 

"  I  am.     And  thou  art  Swend  Ulfsson,  the  king  ?  " 

"  I  am  Earl  Osbiorn,  his  brother." 


208  H-EREWAED,   THE  LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH. 

"  Then,  where  is  the  king  ?  " 

"  He  is  in  Denmark,  and  I  command  his  fleet ;  and  with  me 
are  Canute  and  Harold,  Sweyn's  sons,  and  earls  and  bishops 
enough  for  all  England." 

This  was  spoken  in  a  somewhat  haughty  tone,  in  answer  to 
the  look  of  surpi'ise  and  disappointment  which  Hereward  had, 
unawares,  allowed  to  pass  over  his  face. 

"  Thou  art  better  than  none,"  said  Hereward.  "  Now,  hearken, 
Osbiorn  the  Earl.  Had  Swend  been  here,  I  would  have  put  my 
hand  between  his,  and  said  in  my  own  name,  and  that  of  all  the 
men  in  Kesteven  and  the  fens,  Swend's  men  we  are,  to  live  and 
die  !  But  now,  as  it  is,  I  say,  for  me  and  them,  thy  men  we  are, 
to  live  and  die,  as  long  as  thou  art  true  to  us." 

"  True  to  you  I  will  be,"  said  Osbiorn. 

"  Be  it  so,"  said  Hereward.  "  True  we  shall  be,  whatever 
betide.  Now,  whither  goes  Earl  Osbiorn,  and  all  his  great 
meinie  ?  " 

"  We  purpose  to  try  Dover." 

"You  will  not  take  it.  The  Frenchman  has  strengthened  it 
with  one  of  his  accursed  keeps,  and  without  battering-engines 
you  may  sit  before  it  a  month." 

"  What  if  I  asked  you  to  go  in  thither  yourself,  and  try  the 
mettle  and  the  luck  which,  they  say,  never  failed  Hereward  yet?" 

"I  should  say  tliat  it  was  a  child's  trick  to  throw  away  against 
a  paltry  stone  wall  the  life  of  a  man  who  was  ready  to  raise  for 
you  in  Lincolnshire  and  Cambridgeshire,  five  times  as  many  men 
as  you  will  lose  in  taking  Dover." 

"Hereward  is  right,"  said  more  than  one  Earl.  "We  shall 
need  him  in  his  own  country." 

"  If  you  are  wise,  to  that  country  you  yourselves  will  go.  It 
is  ready  to  receive  you.  This  is  ready  to  oppose  you.  You  are 
attacking  the  Frenchman  at  his  strongest  point  instead  of  his 
weakest.  Did  I  not  send  again  and  again,  entreating  you 
to  cross  from  Scheldtmouth  to  the  Wash,  and  send  me  word  that 
I  might  come  and  raise  the  Fen-men  for  you,  and  then  we  would 
all  go  north  together  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard,  ere  now,"  said  Earl  Osbiorn,  haughtily,  "  that 
Hereward,  thougli  he  be  a  valiant  Viking,  is  more  fond  of  giving 
advice  than  of  taking  it." 

Hereward  was  about  to  answer  very  fiercely.  If  he  had,  no 
one  would  have  thought  any  harm,  in  those  plain-spoken  times. 
But  he  was  wise  ;  and  restrained  himself,  remembering  that  Tor- 
frida  was  there;  all  but  alone,  in  the  midst  of  a  fleet  of  savage 
men  ;  and  that  beside,  he  had  a  great  deed  to  do,  and  must  do  it 
as  he  could.     So  he  answered,  — 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OP  THE  ENGLISH.       209 

"  Osbiorn  the  Earl  has  not,  it  seems,  heard  this  of  Hereward  : 
that  because  he  is  accustomed  to  command,  he  is  also  accustomed 
to  obey.  What  thou  wilt  do,  do,  and  bid  me  do.  He  that 
quarrels  with  his  captain  cuts  his  own  thi'oat  and  his  fellows' 
too." 

"  Wisely  spoken ! "  said  the  earls ;  and  Hereward  went  back 
to  his  ship. 

"  Torfrida,"  said  he,  bitterly,  "  the  game  is  lost  before  it  is 
begun." 

"  God  forbid,  my  beloved  !     What  words  are  these  ?  " 

"  Swend  —  fool  that  he  is  with  his  over-caution,  —  always  the 
same !  —  has  let  the  prize  slip  from  between  his  fingers.  He  has 
sent  Osbiorn  instead  of  himself." 

"  But  why  is  that  so  terrible  a  mistake  ?  " 

"  We  do  not  want  a  fleet  of  Vikings  in  England,  to  plunder 
the  French  and  English  alike.  We  want  a  king,  a  king,  a  king ! " 
and  Hereward  stamped  with  rage.  "  And  instead  of  a  king,  we 
have  this  Osbiorn,  —  all  men  know  him,  greedy  and  false  and 
weak-headed.  Here  he  is  going  to  be  beaten  off  at  Dover ;  and 
then,  I  suppose,  at  the  next  port ;  and  so  forth,  till  the  whole 
season  is  wasted,  and  the  ships  and  men  lost  by  driblets.  Pray 
for  us  to  God  and  his  saints,  Torfrida,  you  who  are  nearer  to 
Heaven  than  I ;  for  we  never  needed  it  mox'e." 

And  Osbiorn  went  in  ;  tried  to  take  Dover ;  and  was  beaten 
off  with  heavy  loss. 

Then  the  earls  bade  him  take  Hereward's  advice.  But  he 
would  not. 

So  he  went  round  the  Foreland,  and  tried  Sandwich,  —  as  if, 
landing  there,  he  would  have  been  safe  in  marching  on  London, 
in  the  teeth  of  the  elite  of  Normandy. 

But  he  was  beaten  off  there,  with  more  loss.  Then,  too  late, 
he  took  Hereward's  advice,  —  or,  rather,  half  of  it,  —  and  sailed 
north  ;  but  only  to  commit  more  follies. 

He  dared  not  enter  the  Thames.  He  would  not  go  on  to  the 
Wash ;  but  he  went  into  the  Orwell,  and  attacked  Ipswich, 
plundering  right  and  left,  instead  of  proclaiming  King  Sweyn, 
and  calling  the  Danish  folk  around  him.  The  Danish  folk  of 
Suffolk  rose,  and,  like  valiant  men,  beat  him  off;  while  Here- 
ward lay  outside  the  river  mouth,  his  soul  within  him  black  with 
disappointment,  rage,  and  shame.  He  would  not  go  in.  He 
would  not  fight  against  his  own  countrymen.  He  would  not 
help  to  turn  the  whole  plan  into  a  marauding  raid.  And  he  told 
Earl  Osbiorn  so  so  fiercely,  that  his  life  would  have  been  in 
dangei',  had  not  the  force  of  his  arm  been  as  much  feared  as  the 
force  of  his  name  was  needed. 

N 


210       HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

At  last  they  came  to  Yarmouth.  Osbiorn  would  needs  land 
there,  and  try  Norwich. 

Hereward  was  nigh  desperate :  but  he  hit  upon  a  plan.  Let 
Osbiorn  do  so,  if  he  would.  IJe  himself  would  sail  round  to  the 
Wash,  raise  the  Fen-men,  and  march  eastward  at  their  head 
through  Norfolk  to  meet  him.  Osbiorn  himself  could  not  refuse 
so  rational  a  proposal.  All  the  earls  and  bishops  approved 
loudly ;  and  away  Hereward  went  to  the  Wash,  his  heart  well- 
nigh  broken,  foreseeing  nothing  but  evil. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

HOW   HEREWARD   GATHERED   AN  ^RMY. 

The  voyage  round  the  Norfolk  coast  was  rough  and  wild. 
Torfrida  was  ill,  the  little  girl  was  ill  ;  the  poor  old  mother  was 
so  ill  that  she  could  not  even  say  her  prayers.  Packed  uncom- 
fortably under  the  awning  on  the  poop,  Torfrida  looked  on  from 
beneath  it  upon  the  rolling  water-waste,  with  a  heart  full  of 
gloonly  forebodings,  and  a  brain  whirling  with  wild  fancies.  The 
"wreaths  of  cloud  were  gray  witches,  hurrying  on  with  the  t^hip  to 
work  her  woe ;  the  low  red  storm-dawn  was  streaked  with  blood ; 
the  water  which  gurgled  all  night  under  the  lee  was  alive  with 
hoarse  voices  ;  and  again  and  again  she  started  from  fitful  slum- 
ber to  clasp  the  child  closer  to  her,  or  look  up  for  comfort  to  the 
sturdy  figure  of  her  husband,  as  he  stood,  like  a  tower  of  strength, 
steering  and  commanding,  the  long  night  through. 

Yes  ;  on  him  she  could  depend.  On  his  courage,  on  his  skill. 
And  as  tor  his  love,  had  she  not  that  utterly  ?  And  what  more 
did  woman  need  ? 

But  she  was  going,  she  scarce  knew  whither  ;  and  she  scarce 
knew  for  what.  At  lea>t,  on  a  fearful  adventure,  which  might 
have  a  fearful  end.  She  looked  at  the  fair  child,  and  reproached 
herself  for  a  moment ;  at  the  poor  old  mother,  whining  and  mum- 
bling, her  soft  southern  heart  quite  broken  by  the  wild  chill 
northern  sea-breeze ;  and  reproached  herself  still  more.  But 
was  it  not  her  duty?  Him  she  loved,  and  liis  she  was  ;  and  him 
she  must  follow,  over  sea  and  land,  till  death  ;  and  if  possible, 
beyond  death  again  forever.  For  his  sake  she  would  slave. 
For  his  sake  she  would  be  strong.  If  ever  there  rose  in  her  a 
homesickness,  a  regret  for  leaving  Flanders,  and  much  more  for 
that  sunnier  South  where  she  was  born,  lie  at  leasl  sliould  never 
be  saddened  or  weakened  by  one  hint  of  iier  sadness  and  weak- 
ness. And  so  it  befell  that,  by  the  time  they  made  the  coast,  she 
had  (as  the  old  chronicler  says)  "altogether  conquered  all  wom- 
anly softness." 

And  yet  she  shuddered  at  the  dreary  mud-creek  into  which 
they  ran  their  ships,  at  the  dreary  flats  on  which  they  lauded 
ghivering,  swept  over  by  the  keen  northeast  wind.   A  lonely  land; 


212  HEREWARD,   THE   LAST   OF  THE   ENGLISH. 

and  within,  she  knew  not  what  of  danger,  it  might  be  of  hideous 
death. 

But  she  would  be  strong.  And  when  they  were  all  landed, 
men,  arms,  baggage,  and  had  pitched  the  tents  which  the  wise 
Hereward  had  brought  with  tliem,  she  rose  up  like  a  queen,  and 
took  her  little  one  by  the  hand,  and  went  among  the  men,  and 
spoke  :  — 

"  Housecarles  and  mariners !  you  are  following  a  great  captain, 
upon  a  great  adventure.  How  great  he  is,  you  know  as  well  as 
I.  I  have  given  him  myself,  my  wealth,  and  all  I  have,  and 
have  followed  him  I  know  not  whither,  because  I  trust  him 
utterly.  Men,  trust  him  as  I  trust  him,  and  follow  him  to  the 
death." 

"  That  will  we  !  " 

"  And,  men,  I  am  here  among  you,  a  weak  woman,  trying  to  be 
brave  for  his  sake  —  and  for  yours.  Be  true  to  me,  too,  as  I 
have  been  true  to  you.  For  your  sake  have  I  worked  hard  day  and 
night,  for  many  a  year.  For  you  I  have  baked  and  brewed  and 
cooked,  like  any  poor  churl's  wife.  Is  there  a  garment  on  your 
backs  which  my  hands  have  not  mended  ?  Is  there  a  wound  on 
your  limbs  which  my  hands  have  not  salved  ?  0,  if  Torfrida 
has  been  true  to  you,  promise  me  this  day  that  you  will  be  true 
men  to  her  and  hers  ;  that  if —  which  Heaven  forbid  !  —  aught 
should  befall  him  and  me,  you  will  protect  this  my  poor  old  mother, 
and  this  my  child,  who  has  grown  up  among  you  all,  —  a  lamb 
brought  up  within  the  lions'  den.  Look  at  her,  men,  and  promise 
me,  on  the  faith  of  valiant  soldiers,  that  you  will  be  lions  on  her 
behalf,  if  she.  shall  ever  need  you.  Promise  me,  that  if  you 
have  but  one  more  stroke  left  to  strike  on  earth,  you  will  strike 
it  to  defend  the  daughter  of  Herewai'd  and  Torfrida  from  cruelty 
and  shame  " 

The  men  answered  by  a  shout  which  rolled  along  the  fen,  and 
startled  the  wild-fowl  up  from  far-oif  pools.  They  crowded  round 
their  lady ;  they  kissed  her  hands  ;  they  bent  down  and  kissed 
their  little  playmate,  and  swore  —  one  by  God  and  his  apostles, 
and  the  next  by  Odin  and  Thor  —  that  slie  should  be  a  daughter 
to  each  and  every  one  of  them,  as  long  as  they  could  grip  steel 
in  hand. 

Then  (says  the  chronicler)  Hereward  sent  on  spies,  to  see 
whether  the  Frenchmen  were  in  the  land,  and  how  folks  fared  at 
Holbeach,  Spalding,  and  Bourne. 

The  two  young  Si  wards,  as  knowing  the  country  and  the  folk, 
pushed  forwai'd,  and  with  them  Martin  Lightfoot,  to  bring  back 
news. 

Martin  ran  back  all  the  way  from  Holbeach,  the  very  first  day, 


HERE  WARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH.  213 

with  right  good  news.  There  was  not  a  Frenchman  in  the  town. 
Neither  was  there,  they  said,  in  Spahhng.  Ivo  Taillebois  was 
still  away  at  the  wars,  and  long  might  he  stay. 

So  forward  they  marched,  and  everywhere  the  landsfolk  were 
tilling  the  ground  in  peace  ;  and  when  they  saw  that  stout  array, 
they  hurried  out  to  meet  the  troops,  and  burdened  them  with  food, 
and  ale,  and  all  they  needed. 

And  at  Holbeach,  and  at  Spalding,  Hereward  split  up  the  war- 
arrow,  and  sent  it  through  Kesteven,  and  south  into  the  Cam- 
bridge fens,  calling  on  all  men  to  arm  and  come  to  him  at  Bourne, 
in  tlie  name  of  Waltiieof  and  Morcar  the  earls. 

And  at  every  farm  and  town  he  blew  the  war-horn,  and  sum- 
moned every  man  who  could  bear  arms  to  be  ready,  against  the 
coming  of  the  Danish  host  from  Norwich.  And  so  through  all 
the  fens  came  true  what  the  wild-fowl  said  upon  the  meres,  that 
Hereward  was  come  again. 

And  when  he  came  to  Bourne,  all  men  were  tilling  in  peace. 
Tlie  terror  of  Hereward  had  fallen  on  the  Frenchmen,  and  no 
man  liad  dared  to  enter  on  his  inheritance,  or  to  set  a  French 
foot  over  the  threshold  of  that  ghastly  hall,  over  the  gable  where- 
of .stili  grinned  the  fourteen  heads ;  on  the  floor  whereof  still 
spread  the  dark  stains  of  blood. 

Only  Geri  dwelt  in  a  corner  of  the  house,  and  with  him  Leofric 
the  Unlucky,  once  a  roistering  housecarle  of  Hereward's  youth, 
now  a  monk  of  Crowland,  and  a  deacon,  whom  Lady  Godiva  had 
sent  thither  that  he  might  take  care  of  her  poor.  And  there  Geri 
and  Leofric  had  kept  house,  and  told  sagas  to  each  other  over  the 
beech-log  tire  niglit  after  niglit ;  for  all  Leofric's  study  was,  says 
the  chronicler,  "  to  gather  together  for  the  edifit:ation  of  his  hear- 
ers all  the  acts  of  giants  and  warriors  out  of  the  fables  of  the 
ancients  or  fi'om  faithful  report,  and  commit  them  to  writing,  that 
he  might  keep  England  in  mind  thereof."  Which  Leofric  was 
afterwards  ordained  priest,  probably  in  Ely,  by  Bishop  Egalwin 
of  Durham;  and  was  Hereward's  chaplain  for  many  a.year. 

Then  Hereward,  as  he  had  promised,  set  fire  to  the  three  farms 
close  to  the  Bruneswold ;  and  all  his  outlawed  friends,  lurking  in 
the  forest,  knew  by  that  signal  tiiat  Hereward  was  come  again. 

So  they  cleansed  out  the  old  house :  though  they  did  not  take 
down  the  heads  from  off  the  gable  ;  and  Torfrida  went  about  it, 
and  about  it,  and  confessed  that  England  was,  after  all,  a  pleasant 
place  enough.  And  they  were  as  happy,  it'may  be,  for  a  week 
or  two,  as  ever  they  had  been  hi  their  lives. 

"  And  now,"  said  Torfrida,  "  wliile  you  see  to  your  army,  I 
must  be  doing ;  for  I  am  a  lady  now,  and  mistress  of  great  es- 
tates.    So  I  must  be  seeing  to  the  poor." 


214  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

"  But  you  cannot  speak  their  tongue." 

"  Can  I  not  ?  Do  you  think  that  in  the  face  of  coming  to  Eng- 
land and  fighting  here,  and  plotting  here,  and  being,  may  be,  an 
earl's  countess,  I  have  not  made  INIartin  Liglitfoot  teach  me  your 
En;2;]i-h  tongue,  till  I  can  speak  it  as  well  as  you  ?  I  kept  that 
hidden  as  a  surprise  tor  you,  that  you  might  find  out,  when  you 
most  needed,  how  Tort'rida  loved  you." 

"  As  if  I  had  not  found  out  already  !  O  woman  !  woman  !  I 
verily  believe  that  God  made  you  alone,  and  left  the  Devil  to 
make  us  butchers  of  men." 

ISIeanwhile  went  round  through  all  the  fens,  and  north  into  the 
Bruneswold,  and  away  again  to  Lincoln  and  merry  Sherwood, 
that  Hereward  was  come  again.  And  Gilbert  of  Ghent,  keeping 
Lincoln  Castle  for  the  Conqueror,  was  perplexed  in  mind,  and 
looked  well  to  gates  and  bars  and  sentinels ;  for  Hereward  sent 
him  at  once  a  message,  that  forasmuch  as  he  had  forgotten  his 
warning  in  Bruges  street,  and  put  a  rascal  cook  into  his  mother's 
manors,  he  should  ride  Odin's  horse  on  the  highest  ash  in  the 
Bruneswold. 

On  which  Gilbert  of  Ghent,  inquiring  what  Odin's  horse  might 
be,  and  finding  it  to  signify  the  ash-tree  whereon,  as  sacred  to 
Odin,  thieves  were  hanged  hy  Danes  and  Norse,  made  answer, — 

That  he  Gilbert  had  not  put  his  cook  into  Bourne,  nor  other- 
wise harmed  Hereward  or  his.  That  Bourne  had  been  seized  by 
the  king  himself,  together  with  Earl  Morcar's  lands  in  those  parts, 
as  all  men  knew.  That  the  said  cook  so  pleased  the  king  with  a 
dish  of  stewed  eel-pout,  which  he  served  up  to  him  at  Cambridge, 
and  which  the  king  had  never  eaten  before,  that  the  king  begged 
the  said  cook  of  him  Gilbert  and  took  him  away  ;  and  that  after, 
so  he  heai'd,  the  said  cook  had  begged  the  said  manors  of  Bourne 
of  the  king,  without  the  knowledge  or  consent  of  him  Gilbert. 
That  he  therefore  knew  naught  of  the  matter.  That  if  Here- 
ward meant  to  keep  the  king's  peace,  he  might  live  in  Bourne  till 
Doomsday,  for  aught  he  Gilbert  cared.  But  that  if  he  and  his 
men  meant  to  break  the  king's  peace,  and  attack  Lincoln  city,  he 
Gilbert  would  nail  their  skins  to  the  door  of  Lincoln  Cathedral, 
as  they  used  to  do  by  the  heathen  Danes  in  old  time.  And  that, 
therefore,  they  now  understood  each  other. 

At  which  Hereward  laughed,  and  said  that  they  had  done  that 
for  many  a  year. 

And  now  poured  into  Bourne  from  every  side  brave  men  and 
true,  —  some  great  holders  dispossessed  of  their  land;  some  the 
sons  of  holders  who  were  not  yet  dispossessed  ;  some  Morcar's 
men,  some  Edwin's,  who  had  been  turned  out  by  the  king. 

To  him  came  "  Guenoch  and-  Alutus  Grogan,  foremost  in  all 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.      215 

valor  and  fortitude,  tall  and  large,  and  ready  for  work,"  and  with 
them  their  three  nephews,  Godwin  Gille,  "so  called  because  he 
was  not  inferior  to  that  Godwin  Guthlacsson  who  is  preached 
much  in  the  fables  of  the  ancients,"  and  Donti  and  Outi,*  the 
twins,  alike  in  face  and  manners  ;  and  Godric,  the  knijifht  of 
Corby,  nephew  of  the  Count  of  Warwick  ;  and  Tosti  of  Dave- 
nesse,  his  kinsman  ;  and  Azer  Vass,  whose  father  had  possessed 
Lincoln  Tower  ;  and  Leofwin  Moue,t  —  tliat  is,  the  scythe,  so 
called,  "  because  when  he  was  mowing  all  alone,  and  twenty 
country  folk  set  on  him  with  pitchforks  and  javelins,  he  slew 
and  wounded  almost  every  one,  sweeping  his  scythe  among  them 
as  one  that  moweth  "  ;  and  Wluncus  the  Black-face,  so  called 
because  he  once  blackened  his  face  with  coal,  and  came  unknown 
among  the  enemy,  and  slew  ten  of  them  with  one  lance  ;  and 
"Turbertin,  a  great-nephew  (surely  a  mistake)  of  Earl  Edwin"; 
and  Leofwin  Pi'at  (perhaps  the  ancestor  of  the  ancient  and  hon- 
orable house  of  Pratt  of  Ryston),  so  called  from  his  "  Prat"  or 
craft,  because  he  had  oft  escaped  cunningly  when  taken  by  the 
enemy,  having  more  than  once  killed  his  keepers  ;  and  the  stew- 
ard of  Drayton  ;  and  Tlmrkill  the  outlaw,  Hereward's  cook ;  and 
Oger,  Hereward's  kinsman  ;  and  "  Winter  and  Linach,"  two  very 
famous  ones  ;  and  Ranald,  the  butler  of  Ramsay  Abbey,  —  "  he 
was  the  standard-bearer";  and  Wulfnc  the  Black  and  Wulfric 
the  White  ;  and  Hugh  the  Norman,  a  priest ;  and  Wulfard,  his 
brother ;  and  Tosti  and  Godwin  of  Rothwell  ;  and  Alsin  ;  and 
Hekill ;  and  Hugh  the  Breton,  who  was  Hereward's  chaplain, 
and  Whishaw,  his  bi-other,  "a  magnificent"  knight,  wiiich  two 
came  with  him  from  Flanders ;  and  so  forth ;  —  names  merely 
of  whom  naught  is  known,  save,  in  a  few  cases,  from  Domesday- 
book,  the  manors  which  they  held.  But  honor  to  their  veiy 
names.     Honor  to  the  last  heroes  of  the  old  English  race. 

These  valiant  gentlemen,  with  the  housecarles  whom,  more  or 
fewer,  they  would  bring  with  them,  constituted  a  formidable  force, 
as  after  years  proved  well.  But  having  got  his  men,  Hereward's 
first  care  was,  doubtless,  to  teach  them  that  art  of  war  of  which 
they,  like  true  Englishmen,  knew  nothing. 

The  art  of  war  has  changed  little,  if  at  all,  by  the  introduction 
of  gunpowder.  The  campaigns  of  Hannibal  and  Ciesar  succeeded 
by  the  same  tactics  as  those  of  P^rederic  or  Wellington ;  and  so, 
as  far  as  we  can  judge,  did  those  of  the  master-general  of  his  age, 
William  of  Normandy. 

But  of  those  tactics  the  English  knew  nothing.  Their  armies 
were  little  more  than  tumultuous  levies,  in  which  men  marched 

*  Named  in  Domesday-book  (  ?). 

t  Probably  the  Leofwin  who  had  lands  in  Bourne. 


216  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

and  fought  under  local  leaders,  often  divided  by  local  jealousiea. 
The  commissariats  of  the  armies  seem  to  have  been  so  worthless, 
that  they  had  to  plunder  friends  as  well  as  foes  as  they  went 
along;  and  with  plunder  came  every  sort  of  excess:  as  when  the 
northern  men  marching  down  to  meet  Harold  Godwinsson,  and 
demand  young  Edwin  as  their  earl,  laid  waste,  seemingly  out  of 
mere  brute  wantonness,  the  country  round  Northampton,  which 
must  have  been  in  Edwin's  earldom,  or  at  least  in  that  of  his 
brother  Morcar.  And  even  the  local  leaders  were  not  over-well 
obeyed.  The  reckless  spirit  of  personal  independence,  especially 
among  the  Anglo-Danes,  prevented  anything  like  discipline,  or 
organized  movement  of  masses,  and  made  every  battle  degenerate 
into  a  confusion  of  single  combats. 

But  Hereward  had  learned  that  art  of  war,  which  enabled  the 
Norman  to  crush,  piecemeal,  with  inferior  numbers,  the  vast  but 
straggling  levies  of  the  English.  His  men,  mostly  outlaws  and 
homeless,  kept  together  by  the  pressure  from  without,  and  free 
from  local  jealousies,  resembled  rather  an  army  of  professional 
soldiers  than  a  country  posse  comitatus.  And  to  the  discipline 
which  he  instilled  into  them  ;  to  his  ability  in  marching  and  ma- 
noeuvring troops;  to  his  care  for  their  food  and  for  their  trans- 
port, possibly,  also,  to  his  training  them  in  that  art  of  figliting  on 
horseback  in  which  the  men  of  Wessex,  if  not  the  Anglo-Danes 
of  the  East,  are  said  to  have  been  quite  unskilled,  —  in  short,  to 
all  that  he  had  learned,  as  a  mercenary,  under  Robert  the  Frison, 
and  amojig  the  highly  civilized  warriors  of  Flanders  and  Nor- 
mandy, must  be  attributed  the  fact,  that  he  and  his  little  array 
defied,  for  years,  the  utmost  efforts  of  the  Normans,  appearing 
and  disappearing  with  such  strange  swiftness,  and  conquering 
against  such  strange  odds,  a?  enshijouded  the  guerilla  captain  in 
an  atmosphere  of  inyfh  and  wonder,  only  to  be  accounted  for,  in 
the  mind  of  Normans  as  well  as  English,  by  the  supernatural 
counsels  of  his  sorceress  wife. 

But  Hereward  grew  anxious  and  more  anxious,  as  days  and 
weeks  went  on,  and  yet  there  was  no  news  of  Osbiorn  and  his 
Danes  at  Norwich.  Time  was  precious.  He  had  to  march  his 
little  army  to  the  Wash,  and  then  transport  it  by  boats  —  no 
easy  matter  —  to  Lynn  in  Norfolk,  as  his  nearest  point  of  attack. 
And  as  the  time  went  on,  Earl  Warren  and  Ralph  de  Guader 
would  have  gathered  their  forces  between  him  and  the  Danes, 
and  a  landing  at  Lynn  might  become  impossible.  Meanwhile 
there  were  bruits  of  great  doings  in  the  north  of  Lincolnshire. 
Young  Earl  Waltheof  was  said  to  be  there,  and  Edgar  the 
Atheling  with  him ;  but  what  it  portended,  no  man  knew. 
Morcar  was  said  to  have  raised  the  centre  of  Mercia,  and  to  be 


HEEEWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       217 

near  Stafford ;  Edwin  to  have  raised  the  Welsh,  and  to  be  at 
Chester  with  Alfgiva,  his  si!^ter,  Harold  Godwinsson's  widow. 
And  Herewai'd  sent  spies  along  the  Roman  Watling  Street  — 
the  only  road,  then,  toward  the  northwest  of  England  —  and 
spies  northward  along  the  Roman  road  to  Lincoln.  But  the 
former  met  the  French  in  force  near  Stafford,  and  came  back 
much  faster  tiian  they  went.  And  the  latter  stumbled  on  Gil- 
bert of  Ghent,  riding  out  of  Lincoln  to  Sleaford,  and  had  to 
flee  into  the  fens,  and  came  back  much  slower  than  they  went. 

At  last  news  came.  For  into  Bourne  stalked  Wah'ric  the 
Heron,  with  axe  and  bow,  and  leapiiig-pole  on  shoulder,  and  an 
evil  tale  he  brought. 

The  Danes  had  been  beaten  utterly  at  Norwich.  Ralph  de 
Guader  and  his  Frenchmen  had  fought  like  lions.  They  had 
killed  many  Danes  in  the  assault  on  the  castle.  They  had 
sallied  out  on  them  as  they  recoiled,  and  driven  them  into  the 
river,  drowning  many  more.  The  Danes  had  gone  down  the 
Yare  again,  and  out  to  sea  northward,  no  man  knew  whither. 
He,  the  Heron,  prowling  about  the  fenlands  of  Norfolk  to  pick 
off  sti-aggling  Frenchmen  and  looking  out  for  the  Danes,  had 
heard  all  the  news  from  the  landsfolk.  He  had  watched  the 
Danish  fleet  along  the  shore  as  far  as  Blakeney.  But  when 
they  came  to  the  isle,  they  stood  out  to  sea,  right  northwest. 
He,  the  Heron,  believed  that  they  were  gone  for  Humber 
Mouth. 

Alter  a  while,  he  had  heard  how  Hereward  was  come  again 
and  sent  round  the  war-arrow,  and  thought  that  a  landless  man 
could  be  in  no  better  company ;  wherefore  he  had  taken  boat, 
and  come  across  tlie  deep  fen.  And  there  he  was,  if  they  had 
need  of  him. 

"  Need  of  you  ?  "  said  Hereward,  who  had  heard  of  the  deed 
at  Wrokesham  Bridge.  "  Need  of  a  hundred  li£;e  you.  But 
this  is  bitter  news." 

And  he  went  in  to  ask  coun-el  of  Torfrida,  ready  to  weep 
with  rage.  He  had  disappointed,  deceived  his  men.  He  had 
drawn  them  into  a  snare.  He  had  promised  that  the  Danes 
should  come.     How  should  he  look  tiiem  in  the  face  ? 

"  Look  them  in  the  face  ?  Do  that  at  once  —  now  —  without 
losing  a  moment.  Call  them  together  and  tell  them  all.  If 
their  hearts  are  stanch,  you  may  do  great  things  without  the 
traitor  earl.  If  their  hearts  fail  them,  you  would  have  done 
nothing  with  them  worthy  of  yourself,  had  you  had  Norway  as 
well  as  Denmark  at  your  back.  At  least,  be  true  with  them,  as 
your  only  chance  of  keeping  them  true  to  you." 

"  Wise,  wise  wife,"  said  Hereward,  and  went  out  and  called 
10 


218  HERE  WARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

his  band  together,  and  told  them  every  word,  and  all  that  had 
passed  since  he  left  Calais  Straits. 

"  And  now  I  have  deceived  you,  and  entrapped  you,  and  I 
have  no  right  to  be  your  captain  more.  He  that  will  depart  in 
peace,  let  him  depart,  before  the  Frenchmen  close  in  on  us  on 
every  side  and  swallow  us  up  at  one  mouthful." 

Not  a  man  answered. 

"  I  say  it  again :  He  that  will  depart,  let  him  depart." 

They  stood  thoughtful. 

Ranald,  the  Monk  of  Ramsay,  drove  the  White-Bear  banner 
lirm  into  the  earth,  tucked  up  his  monk's  frock,  and  threw  his 
long  axe  over  his  shoulder,  as  if  preparing  for  action. 

Winter  spoke  at  last. 

"  If  all  go,  there  are  two  men  here  who  stay,  and  fight  by 
Hereward's  side  as  long  as  there  is  a  Frenchman  left  on  Eng- 
lish soil ;  for  they  have  sworn  an  oath  to  Heaven  and  to  St. 
Peter,  and  that  oath  will  they  keep.  What  say  you,  Gwenoch, 
knighted  with  us  at  Peterborough?" 

Gwenoch  stepped  to  Hereward's  side. 

"  None  shall  go  !  "  shouted  a  dozen  voices.  "  With  Hereward 
we  will  live  and  die.  Let  him  lead  us  to  Lincoln,  to  Stafford, 
where  he  will.  We  can  save  England  for  ourselves  without  the 
help  of  Danes." 

"  It  is  well  for  one  at  least  of  you,  gentlemen,  that  you  are  in 
this  pleasant  mind,"  quoth  Ranald  the  monk. 

"  Well  for  all  of  us,  thou  valiant  purveyor  of  beef  and  beer." 

''  Well  for  one.  For  the  first  man  that  had  turned  to  go,  I 
would  have  brained  him  with  this  axe." 

"  And  now,  gallant  gentlemen,"  said  Hereward,  "  we  must 
take  new  counsel,  as  our  old  has  failed.  Whither  shall  we  go  ? 
For  stay  here,  eating  up  the  country,  we  must  not  do." 

"  They  say  that  Waltheof  is  in  Lindsay,  raising  the  landsfolk. 
Let  us  go  and  join  him." 

"  We  can,  at  least,  find  what  he  means  to  do.  There  can  be 
no  better  counsel.  Let  us  march.  Only  we  must  keep  clear  of 
Lincoln  as  yet.  I  hear  that  Gilbert  has  a  strong  garrison  there, 
and  we  are  not  strong  enougli  yet  to  force  it." 

So  they  rode  north,  and  up  the  Roman  road  toward  Lincoln, 
sending  out  spies  as  they  went ;  and  soon  they  had  news  of  Wal- 
theof, —  news,  too,  that  he  was  between  them  and  Lincoln. 

"  Then  the  sooner  we  are  with  him,  the  better,  for  he  will  find 
himself  in  (rouble  erelong,  if  old  Gilbert  gets  news  of  him.  So 
run  your  best,  footmen,  for  forward  we  must  get." 

And  as  they  came  up  the  Roman  road,  they  were  aware  of  a 
great  preos  of  men  in  front  of  them,  and  hard  fighting  toward. 


HEREWA-RD,   THE  LAST  OP  THE  ENGLISH.  219 

Some  of  the  English  would  have  spurred  forward  at  once. 
But  Hereward  held  them  back  with  loud  reproaches. 

"  Will  you  forget  all  I  have  told  you  in  the  first  skirmish,  like 
so  many  dogs  when  they  see  a  bull  ?  Keep  together  for  five 
minutes  more,  the  pot  will  not  be  cool  before  we  get  our  sup  of  it. 
I  verily  believe  that  it  is  Waltlieof,  and  that  Gilbert  has  caught 
him  already." 

As  he  spoke,  one  part  of  the  combatants  broke  up,  and  fled 
right  and  left ;  and  a  knight  in  full  armor  galloped  furiously  down 
the  road  right  at  them,  followed  by  two  or  three  more. 

"  Here  comes  some  one  very  valiant,  or  very  much  afeared," 
said  Hereward,  as  the  horseman  rode  right  upon  him,  shouting, — 

"  I  am  the  King  !  " 

"  The  King  ? "  roared  Hereward,  and  dropping  his  lance, 
spurred  his  horse  forward,  kicking  his  feet  clear  of  the  stirrups. 
He  caught  the  knight  round  the  neck,  dragged  him  over  his 
horse's  tail,  and  fell  with  him  to  the  ground. 

The  armor  clashed ;  the  sparks  flew  from  the  old  gray  Roman 
flints ;  and  Hereward,  rolling  over  once,  rose,  and  knelt  upon  his 
prisoner. 

"  William  of  Normandy,  yield  or  die  !  " 

The  knight  lay  still  and  stai'k. 

"  Ride  on  !  "  roared  Hereward  from  the  ground.  "  Ride  at 
them,  and  strike  hard !  You  will  soon  find  out  which  is  which. 
This  booty  I  must  pick  for  myself.  What  are  you  at  ?  "  roared 
he,  after  his  knights.  "  Spread  off  the  road,  and  keep  your  line, 
as  I  told  you,  and  don't  override  each  other !  Curse  the  hot- 
headed fools!  The  Normans  will  scatter  them  like  sparrows. 
Run  on,  men-at-arms,  to  stop  the  French  if  we  are  broken.  And 
don't  forget  Guisnes  field  and  the  horses'  legs.  Now,  King,  are 
you  come  to  life  yet?" 

"  You  have  killed  him,"  quoth  Leofric  the  deacon,  whom  Here- 
ward had  beckoned  to  stop  with  him. 

"  I  hope  not.  Lend  me  a  knife.  He  is  a  much  slighter  man 
than  I  fancied,"  said  Hereward,  as  they  got  his  helmet  off. 

And  when  it  was  off,  both  started  and  stared.  For  they  had 
uncovered,  not  the  beetling  brow,  Roman  nose,  and  firm  curved 
lip  of  the  Ulysses  of  the  middle  age,  but  the  face  of  a  fair  lad,  with 
long  straw-colored  hair,  and  soft  blue  eyes  staring  into  vacancy. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  shouted  Hereward,  saying  very  bad  words, 
"  who  come  here  aping  the  name  of  king  ?  " 

"Mother!  Christina!  Margaret!  Waltheof  Earl !"  moaned  the 
lad,  raising  his  head  and  letting  it  fall  again. 

"  It  is  the  Atheling  !  "  cried  Leofric. 

Hereward  rose,  and  stooa  oyer  the  boy. 


220  HEREWAED,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

*'  Ah  !  what  was  I  doing  to  handle  him  so  tenderly  ?  I  took 
him  for  the  Mamzer,  and  thought  of  a  king's  ransom." 

"  Do  you  call  that  tenderly  ?  You  have  nigh  pulled  the  boy's 
head  off." 

"  Would  that  I  had !  Ah,"  went  on  Hereward,  apostrophiz- 
ing the  unconscious  Atheling, — "ah,  that  I  had  broken  that  white 
neck  once  and  for  all !  To  have  sent  thee  feet  foremost  to 
Winchester,  to  lie  by  thy  grandfathers  and  great-grandfathers, 
and  then  to  tell  Norman  William  that  he  must  fight  it  out  hence- 
forth, not  with  a  straw  malkin  like  thee,  which  the  very  crows 
are  not  afraid  to  perch  on,  but  with  a  cock  of  a  very  difFereat 
hackle, —  Sweyn  Ulfsson,  King  of  Denmark." 

And  Hereward  di-ew  Brain-biter. 

"  For  mercy's  sake  !  you  will  not  harm  the  lad  ?  " 

"  If  I  were  a  wise  man  now,  and  hard-hearted  as  wise  men 
should  be,  I  should  —  1  should  — "  and  he  played  the  point 
of  the  swoi'd  backwards  and  forwards,  nearer  and  nearer  to  the 
lad's  throat. 

"  Master !  master  !  "  cried  Leofric,  clinging  to  his  knees  ;  "  by 
all  tlie  saints !  What  would  the  Blessed  Virgin  say  to  such  a 
deed  ! " 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  are  right.  And  I  fear  what  my  lady  at 
home  might  say ;  and  we  must  not  do  anything  to  vex  her,  you 
know.  AVell,  let  us  do  it  handsomely,  if  we  must  do  it. '  Get 
water  somewhere,  in  his  helmet.  No,  you  need  not  linger.  I 
will  not  cut  his  throat  before  you  come  back." 

Leofric  went  off  in  search  of  water,  and  Hereward  knelt  with 
the  Atheling's  head  on  his  knee,  and  on  his  lip  a  sneer  at  all 
thinsfs  in  heaven  and  earth.  To  have  that  lad  stand  between 
him  and  all  his  projects,  and  to  be  forced,  for  honor's  sake,  to  let 
him  stand  ! 

But  soon  his  men  returned,  seemingly  in  high  glee,  and  other 
knights  with  them. 

"  Hey,  lads  ! "  said  he,  "  I  aimed  at  the  falcon  and  shot  the 
goose.  Here  is  Edgar  Atheling  prisoner.  Shall  we  put  him  to 
ran.-^om  ?  " 

"  He  has  no  money,  and  Malcolm  of  Scotland  is  much  too 
wise  to  lend  him  any,"  said  some  one.  And  some  more  rough 
jokes  passed. 

"  Do  you  know,  sirs,  that  he  who  lies  there  is  your  king  ? " 
asked  a  very  tall  and  noble-looking  knight. 

"  That  do  we  not,"  said  Hereward,  sliarply.  "  There  is  no 
king  in  England  this  day,  as  far  as  I  know.  And  there  will  be 
none  north  of  the  Watling  Street,  till  he  be  chosen  in  full  bust- 
ing, and  anointed  at  York,  as  well  as  Winchester  or  London. 


HEKEWAED,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       221 

We  have  had  one  king  made  for  us  in  the  last  forty  years,  and 
we  intend  to  make  the  next  ourselves." 

"  And  who  art  thou,  who  talkest  so  bold  of  king-making  ?  " 

"  And  who  art  thou,  who  askest  so  bold  who  I  am  ?  " 

"  I  am  Waltheof  Siwardsson,  the  Earl,  and  yon  is  my  array 
behind  me." 

"  And  I  am  Hereward  Leofricsson,  the  outlaw,  and  yon  is  my 
army  behind  me." 

If  the  two  champions  had  flown  at  each  other's  throats,  and 
their  armies  had  followed  their  example,  simply  as  dogs  fly  at 
each  other,  they  know  not  why,  no  one  would  have  been  aston- 
ished in  those  unhappy  times. 

But  it  fell  not  out  upon  that  wise  ;  for  Waltheof,  leaping  from 
his  horse,  pulled  off  his  helmet,  and  seizing  Hereward  by  both 
hands,  cried,  — 

"  Blessed  is  the  day  which  sees  again  in  England  Hereward, 
who  has  upheld  throughout  all  lands  and  seas  the  honor  of  Eng- 
lish chivalry  !  " 

"  And  blessed  is  the  day  in  which  Hereward  meets  the  head  of 
the  house  of  Siward  where  he  should  be,  at  the  head  of  his  own 
men.  in  his  own  earldom.  When  I  saw  my  friend,  thy  brother 
Osbiorn,  brought  into  the  camp  at  Dunsinane  with  all  his  wounds 
in  front,  I  wept  a  young  man's  tears,  and  said,  'There  ends  the 
glory  of  the  White-Bear's  liouse ! '  But  this  day  I  say,  the 
White-Bear's  blood  is  risen  from  the  grave  in  Waltheof  Siwards- 
son, who  with  his  single  axe  kept  the  gate  of  York  against  all  the 
army  of  the  French ;  and  who  shall  keep  against  them  all  Eng- 
land, if  he  will  be  as  wise  as  he  is  brave." 

Was  Hereward  honest  in  his  w^ords  ?  Hardly  so.  He  wished 
to  be  honest.  As  he  looked  upon  that  magnificent  young  man,  he 
hoped  and  trusted  that  his  words  were  true.  But  he  gave  a 
second  look  at  the  face,  and  whispered  to  himself:  "  Weak,  weak. 
He  will  be  led  by  priests  ;  perhaps  by  William  himself.  I  must 
be  courteous ;  but  conflde  I  must  not." 

The  men  stood  round,  and  looked  with  admiration  on  the  two 
most  splendid  Englishmen  then  alive.  Hereward  had  taken  off 
his  helmet  likewise,  and  the  contrast  between  the  two  was  as 
striking  as  the  completeness  of  each  of  them  in  his  own  style  of 
beauty.  It  was  the  contrast  between  the  slow-hound  and  the 
deer-hound  ;  each  alike  high  bred  ;  but  the  former,  short,  sturdy, 
cheerful,  and  sagacious ;  the  latter  tall,  stately,  melancholy,  and 
not  over  wise  withal. 

Waltheof  was  a  full  head  and  shoulders  taller  than  Hereward, 
—  one  of  the  tallest  men  of  his  generation,  and  of  a  strength 
which  would  have  been  gigantic,  but  for  the  too  great  length  of 


222  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

neck  and  limb,  which  made  him  loose  and  slow  in  body,  as  he 
was  somewhat  loose  and  slow  in  mind.  An  old  man's  child,  al- 
though that  old  man  was  as  one  of  the  old  giants,  there  was  a 
vein  of  weakness  in  him,  which  showed  in  the  arched  eyebrow, 
the  sleepy  pale  blue  eye,  the  small  soft  mouth,  the  lazy  voice,  the 
narrow  and  lofty  brain  over  a  shallow  brow.  His  face  was  not 
that  of  a  warrior,  but  of  a  saint  in  a  painted  window ;  and  to  his 
own  place  he  went,  and  became  a  saint,  in  his  due  time.  But 
that  he  could  outgeneral  William,  that  he  could  even  manage 
Gospatrick  and  his  intrigues  Hereward  expected  as  little  as  that 
his  own  nephews  Edwin  and  Morcar  could  do  it. 

"  I  have  to  thank  you,  noble  sir,"  said  Waltheof,  languidly,  "  for 
sending  your  knights  to  our  rescue  when  we  were  really  hard 
bestead,  —  I  fear  much  by  our  own  fault.  Had  they  told  me 
whose  men  they  were,  I  should  not  have  spoken  to  you  so  rough- 
ly as  I  fear  I  did," 

"  There  is  no  offence.  Let  Englishmen  speak  their  minds,  as 
long  as  English  land  is  above  sea.  But  how  did  you  get  into 
trouble,  and  with  whom  ?  " 

Waltheof  told  him  how  he  was  going  round  the  country,  rais- 
ing forces  in  the  name  of  the  Atheling,  when,  as  they  were  strag- 
gling along  the  Roman  road,  Gilbert  of  Ghent  had  dashed  out  on 
them  from  a  wood,  cut  their  line  in  two,  driven  Waltheof  one 
way,  and  the  Atheling  another,  and  that  the  Atheling  had  only 
escaped  by  riding,  as  they  saw,  for  his  life. 

"  Well  done,  old  Gilbert !  "  laughed  Hereward.  "  You  must 
beware,  my  Lord  Earl,  how  you  venture  within  reach  of  that  old 
bear's  paw  ?  " 

"  Bear  ?  By  the  by,  Sir  Hereward,"  asked  Waltheof,  whose 
thoughts  ran  looseljf  right  and  left,  "  why  is  it  that  you  carry  the 
white  bear  on  your  banner  ?  " 

"  Do  you  not  know  ?  Your  house  ought  to  have  a  blood-feud 
against  me.  I  slew  your  great-uncle,  or  cousin,  or  some  other 
kinsman,  at  Gilbert's  house  in  Scotland  long  ago ;  and  since  then 
I  sleep  on  his  skin  every  night,  and  carry  his  picture  in  my  ban- 
ner all  day." 

"  Blood-feuds  are  solemn  things,"  said  Waltheof,  frowning. 
"  Karl  killed  my  grandfather  Aldred  at  the  battle  of  Settrington, 
and  his  four  sons  are  with  the  army  at  York  now  —  " 

"  For  the  love  of  all  saints  and  of  E)ngland,  do  not  think  of 
avenging  that !  Every  man  must  now  put  away  old  grudges, 
and  remember  that  he  has  but  one  foe,  —  William  and  his  French- 
men." 

"  Very  nobly  spoken.  But  those  sons  of  Karl  —  and  I  think 
you  said  you  had  killed  a  kinsman  of  mine  ?  " 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.      223 

"  It  was  a  bear,  Lord  Earl,  a  great  white  bear.  Cannot  you 
understand  a  jest  ?  Or  are  you  going  to  take  up  the  quarrels  of 
all  white  bears  that  are  slain  between  here  and  Iceland  ?  You 
will  end  by  burning  Crowland  minster  then,  for  there  are  twelve 
of  your  kinsmen's  skins  there,  which  Canute  gave  forty  years 
ago." 

"Burn  Crowland  minster?  St.  Guthlac  and  all  saints  forbid!" 
said  Waltheof,  cros.-ing  himself  devoutly. 

"  Are  you  a  monk-monger  into  the  bargain,  as  well  as  a  dolt  ? 
A  bad  prospect  for  us,  if  you  are,"  said  Hereward  to  liimself. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  Lord  King ! "  said  Waltheof,  "  and  you  are 
recovering  ?  " 

"  Somewhat,"  said  the  lad,  sitting  up,  "  under  the  care  of  this 
kind  knight." 

"  He  is  a  monk,  Sir  Atheling,  and  not  a  knight,"  said  Here- 
ward. *'  Our  fenmen  can  wear  a  mail-shirt  as  easily  as  a  frock, 
and  handle  a  twybill  as  neatly  as  a  breviary." 

Waltheof  shook  his  head.  "  It  is  contrary  to  the  canons  of 
Holy  Church." 

"  So  are  many  things  that  are  done  in  England  just  now. 
Need  has  no  master.  Now,  Sir  Earl  and  Sir  AtheUng,  what 
are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

Neither  of  them,  it  seemed,  very  well  knew.  They  would  go 
to  York  if  they  could  get  there,  and  join  Gospatrick  and  Merles- 
weyn.  And  certainly  it  was  the  most  reasonable  thing  to  be 
done. 

"  But  if  you  mean  to  get  to  York,  you  must  march  after 
another  fashion  than  this,"  said  Hereward.  "  See,  Sir  Earl,  why 
you  were  broken  by  Gilbert  ;  and  why  you  will  be  broken  again, 
if  this  order  hold-.  If  you  march  your  men  along  one  of  these 
old  Roman  streets  —  By  St.  Mary !  these  Romans  had  more 
wits  than  we  ;  for  we  have  spoilt  the  roads  they  left  us,  and 
never  made  a  new  one  of  our  own  —  " 

'•They  were  heathens  and  enchanters,"  —  and  Waltheof  crossed 
himself. 

"  And  conquered  the  world.  Well,  —  if  you  march  along  one 
of  these  streets,  you  must  ride  as  I  rode,  when  I  came  up  to  you. 
You  must  not  let  your  knights  go  first,  and  your  men-at-arms 
straggle  after  in  a  tail  a  mile  long,  like  a  scratch  pack  of  liounds, 
all  sizes  but  except  each  others'.  You  must  keep  your  footmen 
on  the  high  street,  and  make  your  knights  ride  in  two  bodies, 
right  and  left,  upon  the  wold,  to  protect  their  flanks  and  baggage." 

"  But  the  knights  won't.  As  gentlemen,  they  have  a  right  to 
the  best  ground." 

"  Then  they  may  go  to  —  whither  they  will  go,  if  the  French 


224  HEREWARD,  THE  LA§T   OF   THE  ENGLISH. 

come  upon  them.  If  they  are  on  the  flanks,  and  you  are  attacked 
then  they  can  charge  in  right  and  left  on  the  enemy's  flank,  while 
the  footmen  make  a  stand  to  cover  the  wagons." 

"  Yes,  —  that  is  very  good ;  I  believe  that  is  yonr  French 
fashion  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  fashion  of  common-sense,  like  all  things  which 
succeed." 

"  But,  you  see,  the  knights  would  not  submit  to  ride  in  the 
mire." 

"  Then  you  must  make  them.  What  else  have  they  liorses 
for,   while  honester  men  than  they  trudge  on  foot  ? " 

"  Make  them  ? "  said  Waltheof,  with  a  shrug  and  a  smile. 
"  They  are  all  free  gentlemen,  like  ourselves." 

"  And,  like  ourselves,  will  come  to  utter  ruin,  because  every 
one  of  them  must  needs  go  his  own  way." 

"  I  am  glad,"  said  Waltheof,  as  they  rode  along,  "  that  you 
called  this  my  earldom.  I  hold  it  to  be  mine  of  course,  in  right 
of  my  fatlier;  but  the  landsfolks,  you  know,  gave  it  to  your 
nephew  Morcar." 

"  I  care  not  to  whom  it  is  given.  I  care  for  the  man  who  is 
on  it,  to  raise  these  laiidsfolk  and  make  them  fight.  You  are 
here :  therefore  you  are  earl." 

"  Yes,  the  powers  that  be  are  ordained  by  God." 

"  You  must  not  strain  that  text  too  far,  Lord  Earl ;  for  the 
only  power  that  is,  whom  I  see  in  England  —  worse  luck  for  it ! — 
is  William  the  Mamzer." 

"  So  I  have  often  thought." 

"  You  have  ?  As  I  feared !  "  (To  himself:  )  "  The  pike  will 
have  you  next,  gudgeon  !  "' 

"  He  has  witli  him  the  Holy  Father  at  Rome,  and  therefore 
the  blessed  Apostle  St.  Peter  of  course.  And  is  a  man  right,  in 
the  sight  of  Heaven,  who  resists  them  ?  I  only  say  it.  But  where 
a  man  looks  to  the  salvation  of  his  own  soul,  he  must  needs  think 
thereof  seriously,  at  least." 

"  O,  are  you  at  that  ? "  thought  Hereward.  "  Tout  est  perdu. 
The  question  is.  Earl,"  said  he  aloud,  "  simply  this :  How  many 
men  can  you  raise  off  this  shire  ?" 

"  I  have  raised  —  not  so  many  as  I  could  wish.  Harold  and 
Edith's  men  have  joined  me  fairly  well ;  but  your  nephew,  Mor- 
car's  —  " 

"  I  can  command  them.     I  have  half  of  them  here  already." 

"Then,  —  then  we  may  raise  the  rest?" 

"That  depends,  my  Lord  Earl,  for  whom  we  fight!" 

"  For  whom  ?  —  I  do  not  und(;rstand."' 

"  Whether  we  fight  for  that  lad,  Child  Edgar,  or  for  Sweyn  of 
Denmark,  the  rightful  king  of  England." 


HEREWARD,  THE   LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH.  225 

"  Sweyn  of  Denmark !  Who  should  be  the  rightful  king  but 
the  heir  of  the  blessed  St.  Edward  ?  " 

"  Blessed  old  fool !  He  has  done  harm  to  us  enough  on  earth, 
without  leaving  his  second-cousins'  aunts'  malkins  to  harm  us 
after  he  is  in  Heaven." 

"  Sir  Hereward,  Sir  Hereward,  I  fear  thou  art  not  as  good  a 
Christian  as  so  good  a  knight  should  be." 

"  Christian  or  not,  I  am  as  good  a  one  as  my  neighbors.  I  am 
Leofric's  son.  Leofric  put  Harthacanute  on  the  throne,  and  your 
father,  who  was  a  man,  helped  him.  You  know  what  has  be- 
fallen England  since  we  Danes  left  the  Danish  stock  at  Godwin's 
bidding,  and  put  our  necks  under  the  yoke  of  Wessex  monks  and 
monk-mongers.  You  may  follow  your  father's  track  or  not,  as 
you  like.  I  shall  follow  my  father's,  and  fight  for  Sweyn  Ulfs- 
son,  and  no  man  else." 

"  And  I,"  said  Waltheof,  "  shall  follow  the  anointed  of  the 
Lord." 

"  The  anointed  of  Gospatrick  and  two  or  three  boys ! "  said 
Hereward.  "  Knights !  Turn  your  horses'  heads.  Right  about 
face,  all !  We  are  going  back  to  the  Bruneswold,  to  live  and  die 
free  Danes." 

And  to  Waltheof's  astonishment,  who  had  never  before  seen 
discipline,  the  knights  wheeled  round  ;  the  men-at-arms  followed 
them  ;  and  Waltheof  and  the  A  theling  were  left  to  themselves  on 
Lincoln  Heath. 


10* 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

HOW  ARCHBISHOP   ALDRED   DIED   OF   SORROW. 

In  the  tragedies  of  the  next  few  months  Hereward  took  no 
part ;  but  they  must  be  looked  at  near,  in  order  to  understand 
somewhat  of  the  men  who  were  afterwards  mixed  up  with  him  for 
weal  or  woe. 

When  William  went  back  to  the  South,  the  confederates.  Child 
Edgar  the  Atheling,  Gospatrick,  and  their  friends,  had  come 
south  again  from  Durham.  It  was  undignified  ;  a  confession  of 
weakness.  If  a  Norman  had  likened  them  to  mice  coming  out 
when  the  cat  went  away,  none  could  blame  him.  But  so  they 
did ;  and  Osbiorn  and  his  Dunes,  landing  in  Humber-mouth, 
"  were  met  "  (says  the  Anglo-Saxon  chronicle)  "  by  Child  Edgar 
and  Earl  Waltheof  and  Merlesweyn,  and  Earl  Gospatrick  with 
the  men  of  Northumberland,  riding  and  marching  joyfully  with 
an  immense  army  " ;  not  having  the  spiiit  of  prophecy,  or  fore- 
seeing those  things  which  were  coming  on  the  earth. 

To  them  repaired  Edwin  and  Morcar,  the  two  young  Earls, 
Arkill  and  Karl,  "  the  great  Thanes,"  or  at  least  the  four  sons  of 
Karl,  —  for  accounts  differ,  —  and  what  few  else  of  the  northern 
nobility  Tosti  had  left  unmurdered. 

The  men  of  Northumberland  received  the  Danes  with  open 
arms.  They  would  besiege  York.  They  would  storm  the  new 
Norman  Keep.     They  would  proclaim  Edgar  king  at  York. 

In  that  Keep  sat  two  men,  one  of  whom  knew  his  own  mind, 
the  other  did  not.  One  was  WilUam  Malet,  knight,  one  of  the 
heroes  of  Hastings,  a  noble  Norman,  and  chatelain  of  York  Castle. 
The  other  was  Archbishop  Aldred. 

Aldred  seems  to  have  been  a  man  like  too  many  more,  —  pious 
and  virtuous  and  harmless  enough,  and  not  without  worldly  pru- 
dence ;  but  his  prudence  was  of  that  sort  which  will  surely  swim 
with  the  stream,  and  "  honor  the  powers  that  be,"  if  they  be  but 
prosperous  enough.  For  after  all,  if  success  be  not  God,  it  is  like 
enough  to  Him  in  some  men's  eyes  to  do  instead.  So  Archbishop 
Aldred  had  crowned  Harold  Godwinsson,  when  Harold's  star  was 
in  the  ascendant.  And  who  but  Archbishop  Aldred  should  crown 
William,  when  his  star  bad  cast  Harold's  down  from  heaven? 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH.  227 

He  would  have  crowned  Satanas  himself,  had  he  only  proved 
himself  king  de  facto  —  as  he  asserts  himself  to  be  de  jure  —r  of 
this  wicked  world. 

So  Aldred,  who  had  not  only  crowned  William,  but  supported 
his  power  north  of  Humber  by  all  means  lawful,  sat  in  York 
Keep,  and  looked  at  William  Malet,  wondering  what  he  would  do. 

Malet  would  hold  it  to  the  last.  As  for  the  new  Keep,  it  was 
surely  impregnable.  The  old  wall.^  —  the  Roman  walls  on  which 
had  floated  the  flag  of  Constantine  the  Great —  were  surely  strong 
enough  to  keep  out  men  without  battering-ranM,  balistas,  or  artil- 
lery of  any  kind.  What  mattered  Osbiorn's  two  hundred  and 
forty  shij^s,  and  their  crews  of  some  ten  or  fifteen  thousand  men? 
What  mattered  the  tens  of  thousands  of  Northern  men,  with  Gos- 
patrick  at  their  head  ?  Let  them  rage  and  rob  i-ound  the  walls. 
A  messenger  had  galloped  in  from  William  in  the  Fore-t  of  Dean, 
to  tell  Malet  to  hold  out  to  the  last.  He  had  gallo{)ed  out  again, 
bearing  for  answer,  that  the  Normans  could  hold  York  for  a  year. 

But  the  Archbishop's  heart  misgave  him,  as  from  north  and 
south  at  once  came  up  the  dark  masses  of  two  mighty  armies, 
broke  up  into  columns,  and  surged  against  every  gate  of  the  city 
at  the  same  time.  They  had  no  battering-train  to  breach  the 
ancient  walls  ;  but  they  had  —  and  none  knew  it  better  than  Al- 
dred—  hundreds  of  friends  inside,  who  would  throw  open  to 
them  the  gates. 

One  gate  he  could  command  from  the  Castle  tower.  His  face 
turned  pale  as  he  saw  a  mob  of  armed  townsmen  rushing  down 
the  street  towards  it ;  a  furious  scuflle  with  the  French  guards  ; 
and  then,  through  the  gateway,  the  open  champaign  beyoud,  and 
a  gleaming  wave  of  axes,  helms,  and  spears,  pouring  in,  and  up 
the  street. 

"  The  traitors  ! "  he  almost  shrieked,  as  he  turned  and  x'an 
down  the  ladder  to  tell  Malet  below. 

Malet  was  firm,  but  pale  as  Aldred. 

"  We  must  fight  to  the  last,"  said  he,  as  he  hurried  down,  com- 
manding his  men  to  sally  at  once  en  masse  and  clear  the  city. 

The  mistake  was  fatal.  The  French  were  entangled  in  the 
narrow  streets.  The  houses,  shut  to  them,  were  opened  to  the 
English  and  Danes  ;  and,  overwhelmed  from  above,  as  well  as  in 
front,  the  greater  part  of  the  Norman  garrison  perished  in  the 
first  fight.  The  remnant  were  shut  up  in  the  Castle.  The 
Danes  and  English  seized  the  houses  round,  and  shot  from  the 
windows  at  every  loophole  and  embrasure  where  a  Norman 
showed  him^elf. 

"  Shoot  fire  upon  the  houses  !  "  said  Malet. 

"  You  will  not  burn  York  ?    0  God !  is  it  come  to  this  ?  " 


228       HEREWAKD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

"  And  why  not  York  town,  or  York  minster,  or  Rome  itself, 
with  the  Pope  inside  it,  rather  than  yield  to  barbarians  ?  " 

Archbishop  Aldred  went  iato  his  room,  and  lay  down  on  his 
bed.  Outside  was  the  roar  of  the  battle  ;  and  soon,  louder  and 
louder,  the  roar  of  flame.  This  was  the  end  of  his  time-serving 
and  king-making.  And  he  said  many  prayers,  and  beat  his 
breast ;  and  then  called  to  liis  chaplain  for  blankets,  for  he  was 
very  cold.  "  I  have  slain  my  own  sheep  !  "  he  moaned,  "  slain 
my  own  sheep  !  " 

His  chaplain  hapt  him  up  in  bed,  and  looked  out  of  the  win- 
dow at  the  fight.  There  was  no  lull,  neither  was  there  any  great 
advantage  on  either  side.  Only  from  the  southward  he  could  see 
fresh  bodies  of  Danes  coming  across  the  plain. 

"  The  carcass  is  here,  and  the  eagles  are  gathered  together. 
Fetch  me  the  holy  sacrament,  Chaplain,  and  God  be  merciful  to 
an  unfaithful  shepherd." 

The  chaplain  went. 

"  I  have  slain  my  own  sheep  ! "  moaned  the  archbishop.  "  I 
have  given  them  up  to  the  wolves,  —  given  my  own  minster,  and 
all  the  treasures  of  the  saints  ;  and  —  and  —  I  am  very  cold." 

When  the  chaplain  came  back  with  the  blessed  sacrament, 
Archbishop  Aldred  was  more  than  cold ;  for  he  was  already  dead 
and  stiff. 

But  William  Malet  would  not  yield.  He  and  his  Normans 
fought,  day  after  day,  with  the  energy  of  despair.  They  asked 
leave  to  put  forth  the  body  of  the  archbishop ;  and  young  Wal- 
theof,  who  was  a  pious  man,  insisted  that  leave  should  be  given. 

So  the  archbishop's  coffin  was  thrust  forth  of  the  castle-gate, 
and  the  monks  from  the  abbey  came  and  bore  it  away,  and  buried 
it  in  the  Cathedral  church. 

And  tlien  the  fight  went  on,  day  after  day,  and  more  and  more 
houses  burned,  till  York  was  all  aflame.  On  the  eighth  day  the 
minster  was  in  a  light  low  over  Archbishop  Aldred's  new-made 
grave.  All  was  bui-nt,  —  minster,  churches,  old  Roman  palaces, 
and  all  the  glories  of  Constantine  the  Great  and  the  mythic  past. 

The  besiegers,  hewing  and  hammering  gate  after  gate,  had 
now  won  all  but  the  Keep  itself.  Then  Malet's  heart  failed  him. 
A  wife  he  had,  and  children ;  and  for  their  sake  he  turned  cow- 
ard and  fled  by  night,  with  a  few  men-at-arms,  across  the  burning 
ruins. 

Then  into  what  once  was  York  the  confederate  Earls  and 
Thanes  marched  in  triumph,  and  proclaimed  Edgar  king,  —  a 
king  of  dust  and  ashes. 

And  where  were  Edwin  and  Morcar  the  meanwhile?  It  is 
not  told.     Were  they  struggling  against  William  at  Stafford,  or 


HEREWAED,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       229 

helping  Edric  the  Wild  and  his  Welshmen  to  besiege  Chester  ? 
Probably  they  were  aiding  the  insurrection,  —  if  not  at  these  two 
points,  still  at  some  other  of  their  great  earldoms  of  Mercia  and 
Chester.  They  seemed  to  triumph  for  a  while :  during  the 
autumn  of  1069  the  greater  part  of  England  seemed  lost  to  Wil- 
liam. Many  Normans  packed  up  their  plunder  and  went  back 
to  France  ;  and  those  whose  hearts  were  too  stout  to  return 
showed  no  mercy  to  the  English,  even  as  William  showed  none. 
To  crush  the  heart  of  the  people  by  massacres  and  mutilations 
and  devastations  was  the  only  hope  of  the  invader;  and  thor- 
oughly he  did  his  work  whenever  he  had  a  chance. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

HOW   HEREWARD   FOUND   A   WISER   MAN   IN   ENGLAND   THAN 
HIMSELF. 

There  have  been  certain  men  so  great,  that  he  who  describes 
them  in  words,  much  more  pretends  to  analyze  their  inmost  feel- 
ings, must  be  a  very  great  man  himself,  or  incur  the  accusation 
of  presumption.  And  such  a  great  man  was  William  of  Nor- 
mandy, —  one  of  those  unfathomable  master-personages  who  must 
not  be  rashly  dragged  on  any  stage.  The  genius  of.  a  Bulwer, 
in  attempting  to  draw  him,  took  care,  with  a  wise  modesty,  not 
to  draw  him  in  too  much  detail,  —  to  confess  always  that  there 
was  much  beneath  and  behind  in  William's  character  which  none, 
even  of  his  contemporaries,  could  guess.  And  still  more  modest 
than  Bulwer  is  this  chronicler  bound  to  be. 

But  one  may  fancy,  for  once  in  a  way,  what  William's 
thoughts  were,  when  they  brought  him  the  evil  news  of  York. 
For  we  know  what  his  acts  were  ;  and  he  acted  up  to  his 
thoughts. 

Hunting  he  was,  they  say,  in' the  forest  of  Dean,  when  first  he 
heard  that  all  England,  north  of  the  Watling  Street,  had  broken 
loose,  and  that  he  was  king  of  only  half  the  isle. 

Did  he  —  as  when,  hunting  in  the  forest  of  Rouen,  he  got  the 
news  of  Harold's  coronation  —  play  with  his  bow,  stringing  and 
unstringing  it  nervously,  till  he  had  made  up  his  mighty  mind  ? 
Then  did  he  go  home  to  his  lodge,  and  there  spread  on  the  rough 
oak  board  a  parchment  map  of  England,  which  no  child  would 
deign  to  learn  from  now,  but  was  then  good  enough  to  guide 
armies  to  victory,  because  the  eyes  of  a  great  general  looked 
upon  it? 

As  he  pored  over  the  map,  by  the  light  of  bog-deal  toi'ch  or 
rush  candle,  what  would  he  see  upon  it? 

Three  separate  blazes  of  insurrection,  from  northwest  to  east, 
along  the  Watliug  Street. 

At  Chester,  Edric,  "  the  wild  Thane,"  who,  according  to 
Domesday-book,  had  lost  vast  lands  in  Shropshire ;  Algitha, 
Harold's  widow,  and  Blethwallon  and  all  his  Welsh,  — "  the 
white  mantles,"  swarming  along  Chester  streets,  not  as  usually, 


HEREWAED,   THE  LAST   OF   THE   ENGLISH.  231 

to  tear  and  ravage  like  the  wild-cats  of  their  own  rocks,  but  fast 
friends  by  blood  of  Alaitha,  once  their  queen  on  Penmaenmawr.* 
Edwin,  the  young  Earl,  Algitha's  brother,  Hereward's  nephew, 
—  he  must  be  Avith  them  too,  if  he  were  a  man. 

Eastward,  round  Stafford,  and  the  centre  of  Mercia,  another 
blaze  of  furious  p]nglish  valor.  Morcar,  Edwin's  brother,  must 
be  there,  as  their  Earl,  if  he  too  was  a  man. 

Then  in  the  fens  and  Kesteven.  What  meant  this  news,  that 
Hereward  of  St.  Oraer  was  come  again,  and  an  army  with  him  ? 
That  he  was  levying  war  on  all  Erenchmen,  in  the  name  of 
Sweyn,  King  of  Denmark  and  of  England  ?  He  is  an  outlaw, 
a  desperado,  a  boastful  swash-buckler,  thought  William,  it  may 
be,  to  himself.  He  found  out,  in  after  years,  that  he  had  mis- 
taken his  man. 

And  north,  at  York,  in  the  rear  of  tho-e  three  insurrections  lay 
Gospatrick,  Waltheof,  and  Merlesweyn,  with  the  Northumbrian 
host.  Durham  was  lost,  and  Comyn  burnt  therein.  But  York, 
so  boasted  William  Malet,  could  hold  out  for  a  year.  He  should 
not  need  to  hold  out  for  so  long. 

And  last,  and  worst  of  all,  hung  on  the  eastern  coast  the  mighty 
fleet  of  Sweyn,  who  claimed  England  as  his  of  right.  The  foe 
whom  he  had  part  feared  ever  since  he  set  foot  on  English  soil,  a 
collision  with  whom  had  been  inevitable  all  along,  was  come  at 
last;  but  where  would  he  strike  his  blow  ? 

William  knew,  it  may  be,  that  the  Danes  had  been  defeated  at 
Norwich  ;  he  knew,  doubt  it  not  (for  his  spies  told  him  every- 
thing), that  they  had  purposed  entering  the  Wash.  To  prevent 
a  junction  between  them  and  Hereward  was  impossible.  He 
must  prevent  a  junction  between  them  and  Edwin  and  Morcar's 
men. 

He  determined,  it  seems  —  for  he  did  it  —  to  cut  the  English 
line  in  two,  and  marched  upon  Stafford  as  its  centre. 

So  it  seems ;  for  all  records  of  these  campaigns  are  fragmen- 
tary, confu-ed,  contradictory.  The  Normans  fought,  and  had  no 
time  to  write  history.  The  English,  beaten  and  crushed,  died 
and  left  no  sign.  The  only  chroniclers  of  the  time  are  monks. 
And  little  could  Ordericus  Vitalis,  or  Florence  of  Worcester,  or 
he  of  Peterborough,  faithful  as  he  was,  who  filled  up  the  sad 
pages  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  Chronicle,  —  little  could  tliey  see  or 
understand  of  the  masterly  stiategy  which  was  conquering  all 
England  for  Norman  monks,  in  order  that  they,  following  the 
army  like  black  ravens,  might  feast  themselves  upon  the  prey 
which  others  won  for  them.     To  them,  the  death  of  an  abbot,  the 

*  See  the  admirable  description  of  the  tragedy  of  Penmaenmawr,  in  Bulwar's 
"  Harold." 


232  HEEEWARD,  THE  LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH. 

squabbles  of  a  monastery,  the  journey  of  a  prelate  to  Rome,  are 
more  important  than  the  manoeuvres  which  decided  the  life  and 
freedom  of  tens  of  thousands. 

So  all  we  know  is,  that  William  fell  upon  Morcar's  men  at 
Stafford,  and  smote  them  with  a  great  destruction ;  rolling  the 
fugitives  west  and  east,  toward  Edwin,  perhaps,  at  Chester, 
certainly  toward  Hereward  in  the  fens. 

At  Stafford  met  him  the  fugitives  from  York,  Malet,  his  wife, 
and  children,  with  the  dreadful  news  that  the  Danes  had  joined 
Gospatrick,  and  that  York  was  lost. 

William  burst  into  fiendish  fury.  He  accused  the  wretched 
men  of  treason.  He  cut  off  their  hands,  thrust  out  their  eyes, 
threw  Malet  into  prison,  and  stormed  on  north. 

He  lay  at  Pontefract  for  three  weeks.  The  bridges  over  the 
Aire  were  broken  down.  But  at  last  he  crossed  and  marched  on 
York. 

No  man  opposed  him.  The  Danes  were  gone  down  to  the 
Humber.  Gospatrick  and  Waltheof's  hearts  had  failed  them, 
and  they  had  retired  before  the  great  captain. 

Florence,  of  Worcester,  says  that  William  bought  Earl  Osbiorn 
off,  giving  him  much  money,  and  leave  to  foi'age  for  his  fleet 
along  the  coast,  and  that  Osbiorn  was  outlawed  on  his  return  to 
Denmark. 

Doubtless  William  would  have  so  done  if  he  could.  Doubtless 
the  angry  and  disappointed  English  raised  such  accusations 
against  the  earl,  believing  them  to  be  true.  But  is  not  the  sim- 
pler cause  of  Osbioru's  conduct  to  be  found  in  this  plain  fact? 
He  had  sailed  from  Denmark  to  put  Sweyn,  his  brother,  on  the 
throne.  He  found,  ou  his  arrival,  that  Gospatrick  and  Waltheof 
had  seized  it  in  the  name  of  Edgar  Atheling.  What  had  he  to 
do  more  in  England,  save  what  he  did  ?  —  go  out  into  the  Humber, 
and  winter  safely  there,  waiting  till  Sweyn  should  come  with  re- 
inforcements in  the  spring? 

Then  William  had  his  revenge.  He  destroyed,  in  the  lan- 
guage of  Scripture,  "  the  life  of  the  land."  Far  and  wide  the 
farms  were  burnt  over  their  owners'  heads,  the  growing  crops  up- 
on the  ground;  the  horses  were  houghed,  the  cattle  driven  off; 
while  of  human  death  and  misery  there  was  no  end.  Yorkshire, 
and  much  of  the  neighboring  counties,  lay  waste,  for  the  next 
nine  years.  It  did  not  recover  itself  fully  till  several  generations 
after. 

The  Danes  had  boasted  that  they  would  keep  their  Yule  at 
York.  William  kept  his  Yule  there  instead.  He  sent  to  Win- 
chester for  the  regalia  of  the  Confessor ;  and  in  the  midst  of  the 
blackened  ruins,  while  the  English,  for  miles  around,  wandered 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       233 

starving  in  the  snows,  feeding  on  carrion,  on  rats  and  mice,  and, 
at  last,  upon  each  other's  corpses,  he  sat  in  his  royal  robes,  and 
gave  away  the  lands  of  Edwin  and  Morcar  to  his  liegemen.  And 
thus,  lilie  the  Romans,  from  whom  he  derived  both  his  strategy 
and  his  civilization,  he  "  made  a  solitude  and  called  it  peace." 

He  did  not  give  away  Waltheof 's  lands ;  and  only  part  of 
Gospatrick's.  He  wanted  Gospatrick ;  he  loved  Waltheof,  and 
wanted  him  likewise. 

Therefoi-e,  through  the  desert  which  he  himself  had  made,  he 
forced  his  way  up  to  the  Tees  a  second  time,  over  snow-covered 
moors ;  and  this  time  St.  Cuthbert  had  sent  no  fog,  being  satis- 
fied, presumably,  with  William's  orthodox  attachment  to  St. 
Peter  and  Rome  ;  so  the  Conqueror  treated  quietly  with  Wal- 
theof and  Gospatrick,  who  lay  at  Durham. 

Gospatrick  got  back  his  ancestral  earldom  from  Tees  to  Tyne  ; 
and  paid  down  for  it  much  hard  money  and  treasure  ;  bought  it, 
in  fact,  he  said. 

Waltheof  got  back  his  earldom,  and  much  of  Morcar's.  From 
the  fens  to  the  Tees  was  to  be  his  province. 

And  then,  to  the  astonishment  alike  of  Normans  and  English, 
and  it  may  be,  of  himself,  he  married  Judith,  the  Conqueror's 
niece ;  and  became,  once  more,  William's  loved  and  trusted  friend 
—  or  slave. 

It  seems  inexplicaWe  at  first  sight.  Inexplicable,  save  as  an 
instance  of  that  fascination  which  the  strong  sometimes  exercise 
over  the  weak. 

Then  William  tuiyied  southwest.  Edwin,  wild  Edric  the  dis- 
possessed Thane  of  Shropshire,  and  the  wilder  Blethwallon  and 
his  Welshmen,  were  still  harrying  and  slaynig.  They  had  just 
attacked  Shrewsbury.  William  would  come  upon  them  by  a  way 
they  thought  not  of 

So  over  the  backbone  of  England,  by  way,  probably,  of 
Halifax,  or  Huddersfield,  through  pathless  moors  and  bogs, 
down  towards  the  plains  of  Lancashire  and  Cheshire,  he  pushed 
over  and  on.  His  soldiers  from  the  plains  of  sunny  France 
could  not  face  the  cold,  the  rain,  the  bogs,  the  hideous  gorges, 
the  valiant  peasants,  —  still  the  finest  and  shrewdest  race  of  men 
in  all  England,  —  who  set  upon  them  in  wooded  glens,  or  rolled 
stones  on  them  from  the  limestone  crags.  They  prayed  to  be 
dismissed,  to  go  home. 

"  Cowards  might  go  back,"  said  William  ;  "  he  should  go  on." 
If  he  could  not  ride,  he  would  walk.  Whoever  lagged,  he 
would  be  foremost.  And,  cheered  by  his  example,  the  army 
at  last  debouched  upon  the  Cheshire  flats. 

Then  he  fell  upon  Edwin,  as  he  had  fallen  upon  Morcar.     He 


234      HEEEWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

drove  the  wild  Welsh  through  the  pass  of  Mold,  and  up  into  their 
native  hills.  He  laid  all  waste  with  fire  and  sword  for  many  a 
mile,  as  Domesday-book  testifies  to  this  day.  He  strengthened 
the  walls  of  Chester,  and  trampled  out  the  last  embers  of  rebel- 
lion ;  he  went  down  south  to  Salisbury,  King  of  England  once 
again. 

Why  did  he  not  push  on  at  once  against  the  one  rebellion  left 
aliglit,  —  that  of  Hereward  and  his  fenraen? 

It  may  be  that  he  understood  him  and  them.  It  may  be  that 
he  meant  to  treat  with  Sweyn,  as  he  had  done,  if  the  story  be 
true,  with  Osbiorn.  It  is  more  likely  that  he  could  do  no  more  ; 
that  his  army,  after  so  swift  and  long  a  campaign,  required  rest. 
It  may  be  that  the  time  of  service  of  many  of  his  mercenaries 
was  expired.  Be  that  as  it  may,  he  mustered  them  at  Old 
Sarum,  —  the  Roman  British  burgh  which  still  stands  on  the 
down  side,  and  rewarded  them,  according  to  their  deserts,  from 
the  lands  of  the  conquered  English. 

How  soon  Hereward  knew  all  this,  or  how  he  passed  the 
winter  of  1070-71,  we  cannot  tell.  But  to  him  it  must  have 
been  a  winter  of  bitter  perplexity. 

It  was  impossible  to  get  information  from  Edwin ;  and  news 
from  York  was  almost  as  impossible  to  get,  for  Gilbert  of  Ghent 
stood  between  him  and  it. 

He  felt  himself  now  pent  in,  all  but  trapped.  Since  he  had 
set  foot  last  in  England  ugly  things  had  risen  up,  on  which  he 
had  calculated  too  little,  —  namely,  Norman  castles.  A  whole  ring 
of  them  in  Norfolk  and  Suffolk  cut  him  off  fi-om  the  south.  A 
castle  at  Cambridge  cjpsed  the  south  end  of  the  fens ;  another  at 
Bedford,  the  western  end ;  while  Lincoln  Castle  to  the  north, 
cut  him  off  from  York. 

His  men  did  not  see  the  difficulty ;  and  wanted  him  to 
march  towards  York,  and  clear  all  Lindsay  and  right  up  to 
the  Humber. 

Gladly  would  he  have  done  so,  when  he  heard  that  the  Danes 
wei*e  wintering  in  the  Humber. 

''  But  how  can  we  take  Lincoln  Castle  without  artillery,  or 
even  a  battering-ram  ?  " 

"  Let  us  march  past,  it  then,  and  leave  it  behind." 

"  Ah,  my  sons,"  said  Hereward,  laughing  sadly,  "do  you  sup- 
pose that  the  Mamzer  spends  liis  time  —  and  Englishmen's  lile 
and  labor  —  in  heaping  up  those  great  stone  mountains,  tliat  you 
and  I  may  walk  past  them?  They  are  put  there  just  to  prevent 
our  walking  past,  unless  we  choose  to  have  the  garrison  sallying 
out  to  attack  our  rear,  and  cut  us  off  from  home,  and  Ciirry  off 
our  women  into  the  bargain,  when  our  backs  are  turned." 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH.  235 

The  English  swore,  and  declared  that  they  had  never  thought 
of  that. 

"  No.  We  drink  too  much  ale  this  side  of  the  Channel,  to  think 
of  that,  —  or  of  anything  beside." 

"  But,"  said  Leofwin  Prat,  "  if  we  have  no  artillery,  we  can 
make  some." 

"  Spoken  like  yourself,  good  comrade.  If  we  only  knew 
how." 

"  I  know,"  said  Torfrida.  "  I  have  read  of  such  things  in 
books  of  the  ancients,  and  I  have  watched  them  making  continu- 
ally,—  I  little  knew  why,  or  that  I  should  ever  turn  engineer." 

"  What  is  there  that  you  do  not  know  ?  "  cried  they  all  at  once. 
And  Torfrida  actually  showed  herself  a  fair  practical  engineer. 

But  where  was  iron  to  come  from  ?  Iron  for  catapult  springs, 
iron  for  ram  heads,  iron  for  bolts  and  bars  ? 

"  Torfrida,"  said  Hereward,  "  you  are  wise.  Can  you  use  the 
divining-rod? 

"  Why,  my  knight  ?  " 

"  Because  there  might  be  iron  ore  in  the  wolds ;  and  if  you 
could  find  it  by  the  rod,  we  might  get  it  up  and  smelt  it." 

Torfrida  said  humbly  that  she  would  try ;  and  walked  with  the 
divining-rod  between  her  pretty  fingers  for  many  a  mile  in  wood 
and  wold,  wherever  the  ground  looked  red  and  rusty.  But  she 
never  found  any  iron. 

"  We  must  take  the  tires  off  the  cart-wheels,"  said  Leofwin 
Prat. 

"  But  how  will  the  carts  do  without  ?  For  we  shall  want  them 
if  we  march." 

"  In  Provence,  where  I  was  born,  the  wheels  of  the  carts  are 
made  out  of  one  round  piece  of  wood.  Could  we  not  cut  out 
wheels  like  them  ?  "  asked  Torfrida. 

"  You  are  the  wise  woman,  as  usual,"  said  Hereward. 

Torfrida  burst  into  a  violent  flood  of  tears,  no  one  knew 
■why. 

There  came  over  her  a  vision  of  the  creaking  carts,  and  the 
little  sleek  oxen,  dove-colored  and  dove-eyed,  with  their  canvas 
mantles  tied  neatly  on  to  keep  off  heat  and  flies,  lounging  on  with 
their  light  load  of  vine  and  olive  twigs  beneath  the  blazing  soiitli- 
ern  sun.  When  should  she  see  the  sun  once  more?  Slie  looked 
up  at  the  brown  branches  overhead,  howling  in  the  December 
gale,  and  down  at  the  brown  fen  below,  dying  into  mist  and  dark- 
ness as  the  low  December  sun  died  down  ;  and  it  seemed  as  if 
her  life  was  dying  down  with  it.  There  would  be  no  more  sun, 
and  no  more  summers,  for  her  ujjon  this  earth. 

None  certainly  for  her  poor  old  mother.     Her  southern  blood 


236  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF   THE   ENGLISH. 

was  chilling  more  and  more  beneath  the  bitter  sky  of  Kesteven. 
The  fall  of  the  leaf  had  brought  with  it  rheumatism,  ague,  and 
many  miseries.  Cunning  old  leech-wives  treated  the  French  lady 
with  tonics,  mugwort,  and  bogbean,  and  good  wine  enow.  But, 
like  David  of  old,  she  got  no  heat ;  and  before  Yule-tide  came, 
she  had  prayed  herself  safely  out  of  this  world,  and  into  the  world 
to  come.  And  Torfrida's  heart  was  the  more  light  when  she  saw 
her  go. 

She  was  absorbed  utterly  in  Hereward  add  his  plots.  She 
lived  for  nothing  else ;  and  clung  to  them  all  the  more  fiercely, 
the  more  desperate  they  seemed. 

So  that  small  band  of  gallant  men  labored  on,  waiting  for  the 
Danes,  and  trying  to  make  artillery  and  take  Lincoln  Keep.  And 
all  the  while  —  so  unequal  is  fortune  when  God  so  wills  — 
throughout  the  Southern  Weald,  from  Hastings  to  Hind-head, 
every  copse  glared  with  charcoal-heaps,  every  glen  was  burrowed 
with  iron  diggings,  every  hammer-pond  stamped  and  gurgled 
night  and  day,  smelting  and  forging  English  iron,  wherewith  the 
Frenchmen  might  slay  Englishmen. 

William  —  though  perhaps  he  knew  it  not  himself —  had,  in 
securing  Sussex  and  Surrey,  secured  the  then  great  iron-field  of 
England,  and  an  unlimited  supply  of  weapons ;  and  to  that  cir- 
cumstance, it  may  be,  as  much  as  to  any  other,  the  success  of  his 
campaigns  may  be  due. 

It  must  have  been  in  one  of  these  December  days  that  a  hand- 
ful of  knights  came  througli  the  Bruneswold,  mud  and  blood  be- 
spattered, urging  on  tired  horses,  as  men  despei-ate  and  foredone. 
And  the  foremost  of  them  all,  when  he  saw  Hereward  at  the  gate 
of  Bourne,  leaped  down,  and  threw  his  arms  round  his  neck  and 
burst  into  bitter  weeping. 

"  Hereward,  I  know  you,  though    you  know  me  not.     I  am 

you  nephew,  Morcar  Algarsson  ;  and  all  is  lost." 

***** 

As  the  winter  ran  on,  other  fugitives  came  in,  mostly  of  rank 
a!id  family.  At  last  Edwin  himself  came,  young  and  fair,  like 
Morcar ;  he  who  should  have  been  the  Conqueror's  son-in-law ; 
for  whom  his  true-love  pined,  as  he  pined,  in  vain.  Where  were 
Sweyn  and  his  Danes  ?     Whither  should  they  go  till  he  came  ? 

"  To  Ely,"  answered  Hereward. 

Whetlier  or  not  it  was  liis  wit  which  first  seized  on  the  military 
capabilities  of  Ely  is  not  told.  Leofric  the  deacon,  who  is  likely 
to  know  best,  says  that  there  were  men  there  already  holding 
theirs  out  against  William,  and  that  they  sent  for  Hereward.  But 
it  is  not  clear  from  his  words  whether  they  were  fugitives,  or 
mei-ely  bold  Abbot  Thurstan  and  his  monks. 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       237 

It  is  but  probable,  nevertheless,  that  Hereward,  as  the  only  man 
among  the  fugitives  who  ever  showed  any  ability  whatsoever,  and 
who  was,  also,  the  only  leader  (save  Morcar)  connected  with  the 
fen,  conceived  the  famous  "  Camp  of  Refuge,"  and  made  it  a  for- 
midable fact.  Be  that  as  it  may,  Edwin  and  Morcar  went  to 
Ely ;  and  there  joined  them  a  Count  Tosti  (according  to  Leofric), 
unknown  to  history ;  a  Siward  Barn,  or  "  the  boy,"  who  had  been 
dispossessed  of  lands  in  Lincolnshire ;  and  other  valiant  and  noble 
gentlemen,  —  the  last  wrecks  of  the  English  aristocracy.  And 
there  they  sat  in  Abbot  Thurstan's  hall,  and  waited  for  Sweyn 
and  the  Danes. 

But  the  worst  Job's  messenger  who,  during  that  evil  winter  and 
spring,  came  into  the  fen,  was  Bishop  Egelwin  of  Durham.  Ho 
it  was,  most  probably,  who  brought  the  news  of  Yorkshire  laid 
waste  with  tire  and  sword.  He  it  wa--,  most  certainly,  who 
brought  the  worse  news  still,  that  Gospatrick  and  Waltheof  were 
gone  over  to  the  king.  He  was  at  Durham,  seemingly,  when  he 
saw  that ;  and  fled  for  his  life  ere  evil  overtook  him :  for  to  yield 
to  William  that  brave  bishop  had  no  mind. 

But  when  Hereward  heard  that  Waltheof  was  married  to  the 
Conqueror's  niece,  he  smote  his  hands  together,  and  cursed  him, 
and  the  mpther  who  bore  him  to  Siward  the  Stout. 

"  Could  thy  father  rise  from  his  grave,  he  would  split  thy  cra- 
ven head  in  the  very  lap  of  the  Frenchwoman." 

"  A  hard  lap  will  he  find  it,  Hereward,"  said  Torfrida.  "  I 
know  her,  —  wanton,  false,  and  vain.  Heaven  grant  he  do  not 
rue  the  day  he  ever  saw  her ! " 

"  Heaven  grant  he  may  rue  it  I  Would  that  her  bosom  were 
knives  and  fish-hooks,  like  that  of  the  statue  in  the  fairy-tale.  See 
what  he  has  done  for  us !  He  is  Earl  not  only  of  his  own  lands, 
but  he  has  taken  poor  Morcar's  too,  and  half  his  earldom.  He  is 
Earl  of  Huntingdon,  of  Cambridge,  they  say,  —  of  this  ground  on 
which  we  stand.  What  right  have  I  here  now  ?  How  can  I  call 
on  a  single  man  to  arm,  as  I  could  in  Morcar's  name  ?  I  am  an 
outlaw  here  and  a  robber ;  and  so  is  every  man  with  me.  And 
do  you  think  that  William  did  not  know  that  ?  He  saw  well 
enough  what  he  was  doing  when  he  set  up  that  great  brainless 
idol  as  Earl  again.  He  wanted  to  split  up  the  Danish  folk,  and 
he  has  done  it.  The  Northumbrians  will  stick  to  Waltheof. 
They  think  him  a  mighty  hero,  because  he  held  York-gate  alone 
with  his  own  axe  against  all  the  French." 

"  Well,  that  was  a  gallant  deed." 

"  Pish  !  we  are  all  gallant  men,  we  English.  It  is  not  courage 
that  we  want,  it  is  brains.  So  the  Yorkshire  and  Lindsay  men, 
and  the  Nottingham  men  too,  will  go  with  Waltheof.     And  round 


238  HEEEWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

here,  and  all  through  the  fens,  every  coward,  every  prudent  man 
even,  —  every  man  who  likes  to  be  within  the  law,  and  feel  his 
head  safe  on  his  shoulders,  —  no  blame  to  him,  —  will  draw  each 
from  me  for  fear  of  tliis  new  Earl,  and  leave  us  to  end  as  a  handful 
of  outlaws.  I  see  it  all.  As  William  sees  it  all.  He  is  wise 
enough,  the  Mamzer,  and  so  is  his  father  Belial,  to  whom  he  will 
go  iiome  some  day.  Yes,  Torfrida,"  he  went  on  after  a  pause, 
more  gently,  but  in  a  tone  of  exquisite  sadness,  "  you  were  right, 
as  you  always  are.     I  am  no  match  for  that  man.     I  see  it  now." 

''  I  never  said  that.     Only  —  " 

"  Only  you  told  me  again  and  again  that  he  was  the  wisest 
man  on  earth." 

"  And  yet,  for  that  very  reason,  I  bade  you  win  glory  without 
end,  by  defying  the  wisest  man  on  earth." 

"  And  do  you  bid  me  do  it  still  ?  " 

"  God  knows  what  I  bid,"  said  Torfrida,  bursting  into  tears. 
"  Let  me  go  pray,  for  I  never  needed  it  more." 

Hereward  watched  her  kneeling,  as  he  sat  moody,  all  but  des- 
perate.    Then  he  glided  to  her  side,  and  said  gently,  — 

"  Teach  me  how  to  pray,  Torfrida.  I  can  say  a  pater  or  an 
ave.  But  that  does  not  comfort  a  man's  heart,  as  far  as  I  cotfld 
ever  find.     Teach  me  to  pray,  as  you  and  my  mother  do." 

And  she  put  her  arms  round  the  wild  man's  neck,  and  tried  to 
teach  him,  like  a  little  child. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

HOW   HEREWAED   FULFILLED   HIS   WORDS    TO   THE   PRIOR   OF 
THE   GOLDEN   BOROUGH. 

In  the  course  of  that  winter  died  good  Abbot  Brand.  Here- 
ward  went  over  to  see  him,  and  found  him  mumbling  to  himself 
texts  of  Isaiah,  and.  confessing  the  sins  of  his  [leople. 

" '  "VVoe  to  the  vineyard  that  briiigetli  forth  wild  grapes.  "Woe 
to  those  that  join  house  to  house,  and  field  to  field,'  —  like  us,  and 
the  Godwinssons,  and  every  man  that  could,  till  we  '  stood  alone 
in  the  land.'  '  Many  houses,  great  and  fair,  shall  be  without  in- 
habitants.' It  is  all  foretold  in  Holy  Writ,  Hereward,  my  son. 
'  Woe  to  those  who  rise  early  to  fill  themselves  with  strong  drink, 
and  the  tabret  and  harp  are  in  their  feasts  ;  but  they  regard  not 
the  works  of  the  Lord.'  '  Therefore  my  people  are  gone  into 
captivity,  because  they  have  no  knowledge.'  Ah,  those  French- 
men have  knowledge,  and  too  much  of  it ;  while  we  have  brains 
filled  with  ale  instead  of  justice.  '  Therefore  hell  hath  enlarged 
herself,  and  opened  her  mouth  without  measure ' ;  and  all  go 
down  into  it,  one  by  one.  And  dost  thou  think  thou  shalt  escape, 
Hereward,  thou  stout-hearted  ?  " 

"  I  neither  know  nor  care  ;  but  this  I  know,  that  whithersoever 
I  go,  I  shall  go  sword  in  hand." 

" '  They  that  take  the  sword  shall  perish  by  the  sword,' "  said 
Brand,  and  blessed  Hereward,  and  died. 

A  week  after  came  news  that  Thorold  of  Malmesbury  was 
comhig  to  take  the  Abbey  of  Peterborough,  and  had  got  as  far 
as  Stamford,  with  a  light  royal  train. 

Then  Hereward  sent  Abbot  Thorold  word,  that  if  he  or  his 
Frenchmen  put  foot  into  Peterborough,  he,  Hereward,  would 
burn  it  over  their  heads.  And  that  if  he  rode  a  mile  beyond 
Stamford  town,  he  should  walk  back  into  it  barefoot  in  his  shirt. 

Whereon  Thorold  abode  at  Stamford,  and  kept  up  his  spirits 
by  singing  the  songs  of  Roland,  —  which  some  say  he  himself 
composed. 

A  week  after  that,  and  the  Danes  were  come. 

A  mighty  fleet,  with  Svveyn  Ulfsson  at  their  head,  went  up  the 
Ouse  toward  Ely.     Another,  with  Osbiorn  at  their  head,  having 


240      HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

joined  them  off  the  mouth  of  the  Humber,  sailed  (it  seems)  up 
the  Nene.  All  the  chivalry  of  Denmark  and  Ireland  was  come. 
And  with  it,  all  the  chivalry  and  the  unchivalry  of  the  Baltic 
shores.  Vikings  from  Jomsburg  and  Arkona,  Gottlanders  from 
Wisby  ;  and  with  them  savages  from  Estlionia,  Finns  from  Aland, 
Letts  who  still  offered  in  the  forests  of  Rugen  human  victims  to 
the  four-headed  Swantowit ;  foul  hordes  in  sheep-skins  and  pri- 
meval filth,  who  might  have  been  scented  from  Hunstanton  Cliff 
ever  since  their  ships  had  rounded  the  Skaw. 

Hereward  hurried  to  them  with  all  his  men.  He  was  anxious, 
of  course,  to  prevent  their  plundering  the  landsfolk  as  they  went, 
—  and  that  the  savages  from  the  Baltic  shore  would  certainly  do, 
if  they  could,  however  reasonable  the  Danes,  Orkneymen,  and 
Iri<h  Ostmen  might  be.  » 

Food,  of  course,  they  must  take  where  they  could  find  it ;  but 
outra<>'es  were  not  a  necessary,  though  a  too  common,  adjunct  to 
the  process  of  emptying  a  farmer's  granaries.  ^ 

He  found  the  Danes  in  a  dangerous  mood,  sulky,  and  disgusted, 
as  they  had  good  right  to  be.  They  had  gone  to  the  Humber, 
and  found  nothing  but  i-uin  ;  the  land  waste  ;  the  French  holding 
both  the  shores  of  the  Humber ;  and  Osbiorn  cowering  in  Hum- 
ber-mouth,  hardly  able  to  feed  his  men.  They  had  come  to 
conquer  England,  and  nothing  was  left  for  them  to  conquer,  but 
a  few  peat-bogs.  Then  they  would  have  what  there  was  in  them. 
Every  one  knew  that  gold  grew  up  in  England  out  of  the  ground, 
wherever  a  monk  put  his  foot.  And  they  would  plunder  Crow- 
land.  Their  forefathers  had  done  it,  and  had  fared  none  the 
worse.  English  gold  they  would  have,  if  they  could  not  get 
fat  English  manors. 

"  No  !  not  Crowland  !  "  said  Hereward  ;  "  any  place  but  Crow- 
land,  endowed  and  honored  by  Canute  the  Great,  —  Crowland, 
whose  abbot  was  a  Danish  nobleman,  whose  monks  were  Danes 
to  a  man,  of  their  own  flesh  and  blood.  Canute's  soul  would  rise 
up  in  Valhalla  and  curse  them,  if  they  took  the  value  of  a  penny 
from  St.  Guthlac.  St.  Guthlac  was  their  good  friend.  He  wouW 
send  them  bread,  meat,  ale,  all  they  needed.  But  woe  to  the 
man  who  set  foot  upon  his  ground." 

Hereward  sent  off  messengers  to  Crowland,  warning  all  to  be 
ready  to  escape  into  the  fens ;  and  entreating  Ulfketyl  to  empty 
his  storehouses  into  his  barges,  and  send  food  to  the  Danes,  ere  a 
day  was  past.  And  Ulfketyl  worked  hard  and  well,  till  a  string 
of  bar"-es  wound  its  way  through  the  fens,  laden  with  beeves  and 
bread,  and  ale-barrels  in  plenty,  and  with  monks  too,  who  wel- 
comed the  Danes  as  their  brethren,  talked  to  them  in  their  own 
tongue,  blessed  them  in  St.  Guthlac's  name  as  the  saviors  of 


HEREWARD,   THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH.  24i 

England,  and  went  home  again,  chanting  so  sweetly  their  thanks 
to  Heaven  for  their  safety,  that  the  wild  Vikings  were  awed,  and 
agreed  that  St.  Guthlac's  men  were  wise  folk  and  open-hearted, 
and  that  it  was  a  shame  to  do  them  harm. 

But  plunder  tln-y  must  have.  , 

"And  plunder  you  shall  have!"  said  Hereward,  as  a  sudden 
thought  struck  him.  "  I  will  show  you  the  way  to  the  Golden 
Borough,  —  the  richest  minster  in  England  ;  and  all  the  treasures 
of  the  Golden  Borough  shall  be  yours,  if  you  will  treat  English- 
men as  friends,  and  spare  the  people  of  the  fens." 

It  was  a  great  crime  in  the  eyes  of  men  of  that  time.  A  great 
crime,  taken  simply,  in  Hereward's  own  eyes.  But  necessity 
knows  no  law.  Something  the  Danes  must  have,  and  ought  to 
have  ;  and  St.  Peter's  gold  was  better  in  their  purses  than  in 
that  of  Thorold  and  his  French  monks. 

So  he  led  them  across  the  fens  and  side  rivers,  till  they  came 
into  the  old  Nene,  which  men  call  Catwater  and  Muscal  now. 

As  he  passed  Nomanslandhirne,  and  the  mouth  of  the  Crow- 
land  river,  he  trembled,  and  trusted  that  the  Danes  did  not  know 
that  they  were  within  three  miles  of  St.  Guthlac's  sanctuary. 
But  they  went  on  ignorant,  and  up  the  Muscal  till  they  saw  St. 
Peter's  towers  on  the  wooded  rise,  and  behind  them  the  great 
forest  which  now  is  Milton  Park. 

There  were  two  parties  in  Peterborough  minster :  a  smaller 
faction  of  stout-  eaited  English,  a  larger  one  who  favored  William 
and  the  French  justoms,  with  Prior  Herluin  at  their  head.  Her- 
luin  wanted  not  for  foresight,  and  he  knew  that  evil  was  coming 
on  him.  He  knew  that  the  Danes  were  in  the  fen.  He  knew 
that  Hereward  was  with  them.  He  knew  that  they  had  come  to 
Crowland.  Hereward  could  never  mean  to  let  them  sack  it, 
Peterborough  must  be  their  point.  And  Herluin  set  his  teeth, 
like  a  bold  man  determined  to  abide  the  worst,  and  barred  and 
barricaded  every  gate  and  door. 

That  night  a  hapless  churchwarden,  Ywar  was  his  name,  might 
have  been  seen  galloping  through  Milton  and  Castor  Hanglands, 
and  on  by  Barnack  quarries  over  Southorpe  heath,  with  saddle- 
bags of  huge  size  stuffed  with  'gospels,  mass-robes,  cassocks,  and 
other  garments,  and  such  other  small  things  as  he  could  carry 
jiway.'  And  he  came  before  day  to  Stamford,  where  Abbot 
Thorold  lay  at  his  ease  in  his  inn  with  his  hommes  d'armes 
a>lecp  in  the  hall. 

And  the  churi;hwarden  knocked  them  up,  and  drew  Abbot 
Thorold's  curtains  with  a  face  such  as  his  who 

"drew  Priam's  curtains  iu  the  dead  of  night, 
And  would  have  told  him,  half  his  Troy  was  burued" ; 
11  P 


242      HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

and  told  Abbot  Thorold  that  the  monks  of  Peterborough  had 
sent  him  ;  and  that  unless  he  saddled  and  rode  his  best  that 
niglit,  with  his  meinie  of  men-at-arms,  his  Golden  Borough  would 
be  even  as  Troy  town  by  morning  light. 

"  A  moi  hommes  d'armes ! "  shouted  Thorold,  as  he  nsed  to 
shout  whenever  he  wanted  to  scourge  his  wretched  English 
monks  at  Malmesbury  into  some  French  fashion. 

The  men  leaped  up,  and  pouriSd  in,  growling. 

"  Take  me  this  monk,  and  kick  him  into  the  street  for  waking 
me  with  such  news." 

"  But,  gracious  lord,  the  outlaws  will  surely  burn  Peterborough; 
and  folks  said  that  you  were  a  mighty  man  of  war  " 

"  So  I  am  ;  but  if  I  were  Roland,  Oliver,  and  Turpin  rolled 
mto  one,  how  am  I  to  fight  Hereward  and  the  Danes  with  forty 
men-at-arms  ?  Answer  me  that,  thou  dunder-headed  Englfsh 
porker.     Kick  him  out." 

And  Ywar  was  kicked  into  the  cold,  while  Thorold  raged  up 
and  down  his  chamber  in  mantle  and  slippers,  wringing  his  hands 
over  the  treasure  of  the  Golden  Borough,  snatched  from  his  fin- 
gers just  as  he  was  closing  them  upon  it. 

That  night  the  monks  of  Peterborough  prayed  in  the  minster 
till  the  long  hours  passed  into  the  short.  The  poor  corrodiers, 
and  other  servants  of  the  monastery,  fled  from  the  town  outside 
into  the  MiUon  woods.  The  monks  prayed  on  inside  till  an  hour 
after  matin.  When  the  first  flush  of  the  summer's  dawn  began 
to  show  in  the  northeastern  sky,  they  lieard  mingling  with  their 
own  chant  another  chant,  which  Peterborough  had  not  heard 
since  it  was  Medehampstead,  three  hundred  years  ago,  —  the  ter- 
rible Yuch-hey-saa-saa-saa,  —  the  war-^ong  of  the  Vikings  of  the 
north. 

Their  cliant  stopped  of  itself.  With  blanched  faces  and  trem- 
bling knees  they  fled,  regardless  of  all  discipline,  up  into  tlie 
minster  tower,  and  from  the  leads  looked  out  northeastward  on 
the  fen. 

The  first  rays  of  the  summer  sun  were  just  streaming  over 
the  vast  sheet  of  emerald,  and  glittering  upon  the  winding  river ; 
and  on  a  winding  line,  too,  seemingly  endless,  of  scarlet  coats  and 
shiehls,  black  hulls,  gilded  poops  and  vanes  and  beak-heads,  and 
the  flash  and  foam  of  innumerable  oars. 

And  nearer  and  louder  came  the  oar-roll,  like  thunder  work- 
ing up  from  the  northeast;  and  mingled  with  it  that  grim  yet 
laughing  Heysaa,  which  bespoke  in  its  very  note  the  revelry  of 
slaughter. 

The  ships  had  all  their  sails  on  deck.  But  as  they  came 
nearer,  the  monks  could  see  the  banners  of  the  two  foremost 
vessels. 


HEREWAED,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.      243 

The  one  was  the  red  and  wliite  of  the  terrible  Dannebrog. 
The  other,  the  scarcely  less  terrible  white  bear  of  Hereward. 

"  He  will  burn  the  minster !  He  has  vowed  to  do  it.  As  a 
child  he  vowed,  and  he  must  do  it.  In  this  very  minster  the 
fiend  entered  into  him  and  possessed  him ;  and  to  this  minster 
has  the  fiend  brought  him  back  to  do  his  will.  Satan,  my  breth- 
ren, having  a  special  spite  (as  must  needs  be)  against  St.  Peter, 
rock  and  pillar  of  the  Holy  Church,  chose  out  and  insjiired  this 
man,  even  from  his  mother's  womb,  that  he  might  be  the  foe  and 
robber  of  St.  Peter,  and  the  hater  of  all  who,  like  my  humility, 
honor  him,  and  strive  to  bring  this  English  land  into  due  obedi- 
ence to  that  blessed  apostle.  Bring  forth  the  relics,  my  brethren. 
Bring  forth,  above  all  things,  those  filings  of  St.  Peter's  own 
chains,  —  the  special  glory  of  our  monastery,  and  perhaps  its 
safeguard  this  day." 

Some  such  bombast  would  any  monk  of  those  days  have  talked 
in  like  case.  And  yet,  so  strange  a  thing  is  man,  he  might  have 
been  withal,  like  Herluin,  a  shrewd  and  valiant  man. 

They  brought  out  all  the  relics.  They  brought  out  the  filings 
themselves,  in  a  box  of  gold.  They  held  them  oat  over  the  walls 
at  the  ships,  and  called  on  all  the  saints  to  whom  they  belonged. 
But  they  stopped  that  line  of  scarlet,  black,  and  gold  as  much  as 
their  spiritual  descendants  stop  the  lava-stream  of  Vesuvius,  when 
they  hold  out  similar  matters  at  them,  with  a  hope  unchanged 
by  the  experience  of  eight  hundred  years.  The  Heysaa  rose 
louder  and  nearer.     Tlie  Danes  were  coming.     And  they  came. 

And  all  the  while  a  thousand  skylarks  rose  from  off  the  fen,  and 
chanted  their  own  chant  aloft,  as  if  appealing  to  Heaven  against 
that  which  man's  greed  and  man's  rage  and  man's  superstition 
had  made  of  this  fair  earth  of  God. 

The  relics  had  been  brought  out.  But,  as  they  would  not 
work,  the  only  thing  to  be  done  was  to  put  them  back  again  and 
hide  them  safe,  lest  they  should  bow  down  like  Bel  and  stoop  like 
Nebo,  and  be  carried,  like  them,  into  captivity  themselves,  being 
worth  a  very  large  sum  of  money  in  the  eyes  of  the  more  Chris- 
tian part  of  the  Danish  host. 

Then  to  hide  the  treasures  as  well  as  they  could ;  which 
(says  the  Anglo-Saxon  Chronicle)  they  hid  somewhere  in  the 
steeple. 

The  Danes  were  landing  now.  The  shout  which  they  gave, 
as  they  leaped  on  shore,  made  the  hearts  of  the  poor  monks  sink 
low.  Would  they  be  murdered,  as  well  as  robbed?  Perhaps 
not,  —  probably  not.  Hereward  would  see  to  that.  And  some 
wanted  to  capitulate. 

Herluin  would  not  hear  of  it.     They  were  safe  enough.     St. 


244      HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

Peter's  relic  might  not  have  worked  a  miracle  on  the  spot ;  but  it 
must  have  done  something.  St.  Peter  had  been  appealed  to  on 
his  honor,  and  on  his  honor  he  must  surely  take  the  matter  up. 
At  all  events,  the  walls  and  gates  were  strong,  and  the  Danes  had 
no  artillery.  Let  them  howl  and  rage  round  the  holy  place,  till 
Abbot  Thorold  and  the  Fi'enchraen  of  the  country  rose  and  drove 
them  to  their  ships. 

In  that  last  thought  the  cunning  Norman  was  not  so  far  wrong. 
The  Danes  pushed  up  through  the  little  town,  and  to  the  minster 
gates  :  but  entrance  was  impossible  ;  and  they  prowled  I'ound  and 
round  like  raging  wolves  about  a  winter  steading ;  but  found  no 
crack  of  entry.  * 

Prior  Herluin  grew  bold ;  and  coming  to  the  leads  of  the  gate- 
way tower,  looked  over  cautiously,  and  holding  up  a  certain  most 
sacred  emblem,  —  not  to  be  profaned  in  these  pages,  —  cursed 
them  in  the  name  of  his  whole  Pantlieon. 

"  Alia,  Herluin  !  Are  you  there  ?  "  asked  a  short,  square  man 
in  gay  armor.  "  Have  you  forgotten  the  peat-stack  outside  Boll- 
dyke  Gate,  and  how  you  bade  light  it  under  me  thirty  years 
since  ?  " 

"  Thou  art  Winter  ? "  and  the  Prior  uttered  what  would  be 
considered,  from  any  but  a  churchman's  lips,  a  blasphemous  and 
bloodthu'sty  curse ;  but  which  was,  as  their  writings  sufficiently 
testify,  merely  one  of  the  lawful  weapons  or  "  arts  "  of  those 
Christians  who  were  "forbidden  to  fight," — the  other  weapon  or 
art  being  that  of  lying. 

"Aha!  That  goes  like  rain  off  a  duck's  back  to  one  who  has 
been  a  minster  scholar  in  his  time.  You  !  Danes  !  Ostmen  ! 
down !  If  you  shoot  at  that  man  I  '11  cut  your  heads  off.  He  is 
the  oldest  foe  I  have  in  the  world,  and  the  only  one  who  ever 
hit  me  without  my  hitting  him  again  ;  and  nobody  shall  touch 
him  but  me.     So  down  bows,  I  say." 

The  Danes  —  humorous  all  of  them  —  saw  that  there  was  a 
jest  toward,  and  perhaps  some  earnest  too,  and  joined  in  jeering 
the  Prior. 

Herluin  had  ducked  his  head  behind  the  parapet;  not  from 
cowai'dice,  but  simply  because  he  had  on  no  mail,  and  might  be 
shot  any  moment.  But  when  he  heard  Winter  forbid  them  to 
touch  him,  he  lifted  up  his  head,  and  gave  his  old  pupil  as  good 
as  he  brought. 

With  his  sharp,  swift  Norman  priest's  tongue  he  sneered,  he 
jeered,  he  scolded,  he  argued ;  and  then  threatened,  suddenly 
changing  his  tone,  in  words  of  real  eloquence.  He  appealed  to 
the  superstitions  of  his  hearers.  He  threatened  them  with 
supernatural  vengeance. 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE -ENGLISH.      245 

Some  of  them  began  to  slink  away  frightened.  St.  Peter  was 
an  ill  man  to  have  a  blood  feud  with. 

Winter  stood,  laughing  and  jeering  again,  for  full  ten  minutes. 
At  last :  "  I  asked,  and  you  have  not  answered :  have  you  for- 
gotten the  peat-stack  outside  Bolidyke  Gate  ?  For  if  you  have, 
llereward  has  not.  He  has  piled  it  against  the  gate,  and  it 
should  be  burnt  through  by  this  time.      Go  and  see." 

Herluin   disappeared  with  a  curse. 

"  Now,  you  sea-<;ocks,"  said  Winter,  springing  up.  "  We  '11  to 
the  Bolidyke  Gate,  and  all  start  fair." 

The  Bolidyke  Gate  was  on  fire;  and  more,  so  were  the 
suburbs.  Tliere  was  no  time  to  save  them,  as  Hereward  would 
gladly  have  done,  for  the  sake  of  the  poor  corrodiers.  They 
must  go,  —  on  to  the  Bolidyke  Gate.  Who  cared  to  put  out 
flames  behind  him,  with  all  the  treasures  of  Golden  Borough 
before  him  ?  In  a  few  minutes  all  the  town  was  alight.  In  a 
few  minutes  more,  the  monastery  likewise. 

A  fire  is  detestable  enough  at  all  times,  but  most  detestable  by 
day.  At  night  it  is  customary,  a  work  of  darkness  which  lights 
up  the  dark,  picturesque,  magnificent,  with  a  fitness  Tartarean 
and  diabolic.  But  under  a  glaring  sun,  amid  green  fields  and 
blue  skies,  all  its  wickedness  is  revealed  without  its  beauty. 
You  see  its  works,  and  little  more.  The  Hame  is  hardly  noticed. 
All  that  is  seen  is  a  canker  eating  up  God's  works,  cracking  the 
bones  of  its  prey,  —  for  that  horrible  cracking  is  uglier  than  all 
stage-scene  glares,  —  cruelly  and  shamelessly  under  the  very  eye 
of  the  great,  honest,  kindly  sun. 

And  that  felt  Hereward,  as  he  saw  Peterborough  burn.  He 
could  not  put  his  thoughts  into  words,  as  men  of  this  day  can :  so 
much  the  better  for  him,  perhaps.  But  he  felt  all  the  more 
intensely  —  as  did  men  of  his  day  —  the  things  he  could  not 
speak.     All  he  said  was  aside  to  Winter,  — 

"  It  is  a  dai-k  job.  I  wish  it  had  been  done  in  the  dark." 
And  Winter  knew  what  he  meant. 

Then  the  men  rushed  into  the  Bolidyke  Gate,  while  Here- 
ward and  Winter  stood  and  looked  with  their  men,  whom  they 
kept  close  together,  waiting  their  commands.  The  Danes  and 
their  allies  cared  not  for  the  great  glowing  heap  of  peat.  They 
cared  not  for  each  other,  hardly  for  themselves.  They  rushed 
into  the  gap  ;  they  thrust  the  glowing  heap  inward  through  the 
gateway  with  their  lances ;  they  thrust  each  other  down  into  it, 
and  trampled  over  them  to  fall  themselves,  rising  scorched  and 
withered,  and  yet  struggling  on  toward  the  gold  of  the  Golden 
Borough.  One  savage  Lett  caught  another  round  the  waist,  and 
hurled  him  bodily  into  the  fii'e,  crying  in  his  wild  tongue :  — 


246  HEREWARD,   THE  LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH. 

"  You  will  make  a  good  stepping-stone  for  me." 

"  That  is  not  fair,"  quoth  Here  ward,  and  clove  him  to  the 
chine. 

It  was  wild  work.     But  the  Golden  BoroUgh  was  won. 

"  We  must  in  now  and  save  the  monks,"  said  Hereward,  and 
dashed  over  the  embers. 

He  was  only  just  in  time.  In  the  midst  of  the  great  court 
were  all  the  monks,  huddled  together  like  a  flock  of  sheep,  sprae 
kneeling,  most  weeping  bitterly,  after  the  fashion  of  monks. 

Only  Herluin  stood  in  front  of  them,  at  bay,  a  lofty  crucifix 
in  his  hand.  He  had  no  mind  to  weep.  But  with  a  face 
of  calm  and  bitter  wrath,  he  preferred  words  of  peace  and 
entreaty.  They  were  what  the  time  needed.  Therefore  they 
should  be  given.  To-morrow  he  would  write  to  Bishop  Egel- 
sine,  to  excommunicate  with  bell,  book,  and  candle,  to  the  low- 
est pit  of  Tartarus,  all  who  had  done  the  deed. 

But  to-day  he  spoke  them  fair.  However,  his  fair  speeches 
profited  little,  not  being  understood  by  a  horde  of  Letts  and 
Finns,  who  howled  and  bayed  at  him,  and  tried  to  tear  the 
crucifix  from  his  hands ;  but  feared  "  the  white  Christ." 

They  were  alrt'ady  gaining  courage  from  their  own  yells ;  in  a 
moment  more  blood  would  have  been  shed,  and  then  a  general 
massacre  must  have  ensued. 

Hereward  saw  it,  and  shouting,  "  After  me,  Hereward's  men  ! 
a  bear !  a  bear ! "  swung  Letts  and  Finns  right  and  left  like 
coi'n-sheaves,   and  stood  face  to  fixce  with   Herluin. 

An  angry  Finn  smote  him  on  the  hind-head  full  with  a  stone 
axe.     He  staggered,  and  then  looked  round  and  laughed. 

"  Fool !  hast  thou  not  heard  that  Hereward's  armor  was 
forged  by  dwaifs  in  the  mountain-bowels  ?  Off,  and  hunt  for 
gold,  or  it  will  be  all  gone." 

The  Finn,  who  was  astonished  at  getting  no  more  from  his 
blow  than  a  few  sparks,  and  expected  instant  death  in  return, 
took  the  hint  and  vanished  jabbering,  as  did  his  fellows. 

"  Now,  Herluin,  the  Frenchman  !  "  said  Hereward. 

"  Now,  Hereward,  the  robber  of  saints  ! "  said  Herluin. 

It  was  a  fine  sight.  The  soldier  and  the  churchman,  the  Eng- 
lishman and  the  Frenchman,  the  man  of  the  then  world,  and  the 
man  of  the  then  Church,  pitted  fairly,  face  to  face. 

Hereward  tried,  for  one  moment,  to  stare  down  Herluin.  Bat 
those  terrible  eye-glances,  before  which  Vikings  had  quailed, 
turned  off  liannless  from  the  more  terrible  glance  of  the  man  who 
believed  himself  backed  by  the  Maker  of  the  universe,  and  all  the 
hierarchy  of  heaven. 

A  sharp,  unlovely  face  it    was :  though,  like  many  a  great 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       2-17 

\ 
churchman's  face  of  those  days,  it  was  neither  thin  nor  haggard  ; 
but  rather  round,  sleek,  of  a  puffy  and  unwholesome  paleness. 
But  tliere  was  a  thin  lip  above  a  broad  square  jaw,  which  showed 
that  Herluin  was  neither  fool  nor  coward. 

"  A  robber  and  a  child  of  Behal  thou  hast  been  from  thy  cra- 
dle ;  and  a  robber  and  a  child  of  Belial  thou  art  now.  Dare  thy 
last  iniquity,  and  slay  the  servants  of  St.  Peter  on  St.  Peter's 
altar,  with  thy  worthy  comrades,  the  heathen  Saracens,*  and  set 
up  Mahound  with  them  in  the  holy  place." 

Hereward  laughed  so  jolly  a  laugh,  that  the  Prior  was  tnken 
aback. 

"  Slay  St.  Peter's  rats  ?  I  kill  men,  not  monks.  There  shall 
not  a  hair  of  your  head  be  touched.  Here !  Hereward's  men ! 
march  these  traitors  and  their  French  Prior  safe  out  of  the  walls, 
and  into  Milton  Woods,  to  look  after  their  poor  corrodiers,  and 
comfort  their  souls,  after  they  have  ruined  their  bodies  by  their 
treason ! " 

"  Out  of  this  place  I  stir  not.  Here  I  am,  and  here  I  will  live 
or  die,  as  St.  Peter  shall  send  aid." 

But  as  he  spoke,  he  was  precipitated  rudely  forward,  and  hur- 
ried almost  into  Hereward's  arms.  The  whole  body  of  monks, 
when  they  heard  Hereward's  words,  cared  to  hear  no  more,  but 
desperate  between  fear  and  joy,  rushed  forward,  bearing  away 
their  Prior  in  the  midst. 

"  So  go  the  rats  out  of  Peterborough,  and  so  is  my  dream  ful- 
filled.    Now  for  the  treasure,  and  then  to  Ely." 

But  Herluin  burst  himself  clear  of  the  frantic  mob  of  monks, 
and  turned  back  on  Hereward. 

"Thou  wast  dubbed  knight  in  that  church!" 

"I  know  it,  man;  and  that  church  and  the  relics  of  the  saints 
in  it  are  safe,  therefore.     Hereward  gives  his  word." 

"  That,  —  but  not  that  only,  if  thou  art  a  true  knight,  as  thou 
boldest,  P^nglishman." 

Hereward  gi-owled  savagely,  and  made  an  ugly  step  toward 
Hei'luin.     That  was  a  point  which  he  would  not  have  questioned. 

"  Then  behave  as  a  knight,  and  save,  save,"  —  as  the  monks 
dragged  him  away,  —  "  save  the  hospice !  There  are  women,  — 
ladies  there  !  "  shouted  he,  as  he  was  borne  off. 

They  never  met  again  on  earth  ;  but  both  comforted  them- 
selves in  after  years,  that  two  old  enemies'  last  deed  in  common 
had  been  one  of  mercy. 

Hereward  uttered  a  cry  of  horror.     If  the  wild  Letts,  even 

*  The  Danes  were  continually  mistaken,  by  Norman  churchmen,  for  Sara- 
cens, and  the  Saracens  considered  to  be  idolaters.  A  maumeet,  or  idol,  meaus 
a  Mahomet. 


248  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

the  Jomsburgers,  had  got  in,  all  was  lost.  He  rushed  to  the 
door.  It  was  not  yet  burst :  but  a  bench,  swung  by  strong  arms, 
was  battering  it  in  fast. 

"  Winter  !  Geri !  Siwards  !  To  me,  Hereward's  men  !  Stand 
back,  fellows.  Here  are  friends  here  inside.  If  you  do  not,  I  '11 
cut  you  down." 

But  in  vain.  The  door  was  burst,  and  in  poured  the  savage 
mob.  Hereward,  unable  to  stop  them,  headed  them,  or  pre- 
tended to  do  so,  with  five  or  six  of  his  own  mtm  round  him,  and 
went  into  the  hall. 

On  the  rushes  lay  some  half-dozen  grooms.  They  were  butch- 
ered instantly,  simply  because  they  were  there.  Hereward  saw, 
but  could  not  prevent.  He  ran  as  hard  as  he  could  to  the  foot  of 
the  wooden  stair  which  led  to  the  upper  floor. 

"  Guard  the  stair-foot.  Winter  !  "  and  he  ran  up. 

Two  women  cowered  upon  the  floor,  shrieking  and  praying 
with  hands  clasped  over  their  heads.  He  saw  that  the  arms  of 
one  of  them  were  of  the  most  exquisite  whiteness,  and  judging 
her  to  be  the  lady,  bent  over  her.  "  Lady  !  you  are  safe.  I  will 
protect  you.     I  am  Hereward." 

She  sprang  up,  and  threw  herself  with  a  scream  into  his 
arms. 

"  Hereward  !  Hereward  !     Save  me.     I  am  —  " 

"  Alftruda  !  "  said  Hereward. 

It  was  Alftruda ;  if  possible  more  beautiful  than  ever. 

"  I  have  got  )'ou ! "  she  ci'ied.  "  I  am  safe  now.  Take  me 
away,  —  out  of  this  horrible  place!  Take  me  into  the  woods, — 
anywhere.  Only  do  not  let  me  be  burnt  here,  —  stifled  like  a 
rat.  Give  me  air !  Give  me  water  !  "  And  she  clung  to  him 
so  madly,  that  Hereward,  as  he  held  her  in  his  arms,  and  gazed 
on  her  extraordinary  beauty,  forgot  Torfrida  for  the  second  time. 

But  tliere  was  no  time  to  indulge  in  evil  thoughts,  even  had 
any  crossed  his  mind.  He  cauglit  her  in  his  arms,  and  command- 
ing the  maid  to  follow,  hurried  down  the  stair. 

Winter  and  the  Siwards  were  defending  the  foot  with  swinging 
blades.  The  savages  were  howling  round  like  curs  about  a  bull  ; 
and  when  Hereward  appeared  above  with  the  women,  there  was 
a  loud  yell  of  rage  and  envy. 

He  should  not  have  the  women  to  himself,  —  they  would  share 
the  plunder  equally,  —  was  shouted  in  half  a  dozen  barbarous 
dialects. 

"  Have  you  left  any  valuables  in  the  chamber  ?  "  whispered  he 
to  Alftruda. 

"  Yes,  jewels,  —  robes.     Let  them  have  all,  only  save  me ! " 

"  Let  me  pass  ! "  roared  Hereward.     "  There  is  rich  booty  in 


HEREWARD,   THE  LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH.  249 

the  room  above,  and  you  may  have  it  as  these  ladies'  ransom. 
Them  you  do  not  touch.     Back,  I  say,  let  me  pass !  " 

And  he  rushed  forward.  Winter  and  the  houseearles  formed 
round  him  and  the  women,  and  hurried  down  the  hall,  while  the 
savages  hurried  up  the  ladder,  to  quarrel  over  their  spoil. 

They  were  out  in  the  court-yard,  and  safe  for  the  moment. 
But  whither  should  he  take  her? 

"  To  Earl  Osbiorn,"  said  one  of  the  Siwards.  But  how  to  find 
him? 

"  There  is  Bishop  Christiern  !  "  And  the  Bishop  was  caught 
and  stopped. 

"  This  is  an  evil  day's  work.  Sir  Hereward." 

"  Then  lielp  to  mend  it  by  taking  care  of  these  ladies,  like  a 
man  of  God."     And  he  explained  the  case. 

"  You  may  come  safely  with  me,  my  poor  lambs,"  said  the 
Bishop.  "  I  am  glad  to  find  something  to  do  fit  for  a  churchman. 
To  me,  ray  houseearles." 

But  they  wer«  all  off  plundering. 

"  We  will  stand  by  you  and  the  ladies,  and  see  you  safe  down 
to  the  ships,"  said  Winter,  and  so  they  went  off. 

Hereward  would  gladly  have  gone  with  them,  as  Alftruda 
piteously  entreated  hira.  But  he  heard  his  name  called  on  every 
side  in  angry  tones. 

"  Who  wants  Hereward  ?  " 

"  Earl  Osbiorn,  —  here  he  is." 

"  Those  scoundrel  monks  have  hidden  all  the  altar  furniture. 
If  you  wish  to  save  them  from  being  tortured  to  death,  you  had 
best  find  it." 

Hereward  ran  with  him  into  the  Cathedral.  It  was  a  hideous 
sight ;  torn  books  and  vestments,  broken  tabernacle  work ;  tbul 
savages  swarming  in  and  out  of  every  dark  aisle  and  cloister,  like 
wolves  in  search  of  prey ;  five  or  six  rufiians  aloft  upon  the  rood 
screen ;  one  tearing  the  golden  crown  from  the  head  of  the  cruci- 
fix, another  the  golden  footstool  from  its  feet.* 

As  Hereward  came  up,  crucifix  and  man  fell  together,  crashing 
upon  the  pavement,  amid  shouts  of  brutal  laughter. 

He  hurried  past  them,  shuddering,  into  the  choir.  The  altar 
was  bare,  the  golden  pallium  which  covered  it,  gone. 

"  It  may  be  in  the  crypt  below.  I  suppose  the  monks  keep 
their  relia-^  tliere,"  said  Osbiorn. 

"No!  Not  there.  Do  not  touch  the  relics!  Would  you  liave 
the  curse  of  all  the  saints  ?  Stay !  I  know  an  old  hiding-place. 
It  may  be  there.     Up  into  the  steeple  with  me." 

*  The  crucifix  was  probably  of  the  Greek  pattern,  in  which  the  figure  stood 
upon  a  flat  slab,  projectino;  from  the  cross. 
11* 


250      HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

And  in  a  chamber  in  the  steeple  they  found  the  golden  pall, 
and  treasures  countless  and  wonderful. 

"  We  had  better  keep  the  knowledge  of  this  to  ourselves 
awhile,"  said  Earl  Osbiorn,  looking  with  greedy  eyes  on  a  heap 
of  wealth  such  as  he  had  never  beheld  before. 

"  Not  we !  Hereward  is  a  man  of  his  word,  and  we  will  share 
and  share  alike."  And  he  turned  and  went  down  the  narrow 
winding  stair. 

Earl  Osbiorn  gave  one  look  at  his  turned  back ;  an  evil  spirit 
of  covetousness  came  over  him ;  and  he  smote  Hereward  full  and 
strong  upon  the  hind-head. 

The  sword  turned  upon  the  magic  helm,  and  the  sparks  flashed 
out  bright  and  wide. 

Earl  Osbiorn  shrunk  back,  appalled  and  trembling. 

"  Aha !  "  said  Hereward  without  looking  round.  "  I  never 
thought  there  would  be  loose  stones  in  the  roof.  Here !  Up 
here,  Vikings,  Berserker,  and  sea-cocks  all !  Here,  Jutlanders, 
Jomsburgers,  Letts,  Finns,  witches'  sons  and  devils'  sons  all! 
Here ! "  cried  he,  wliile  Osbiorn  profited  by  that  moment  to 
thrust  an  especially  brilliant  jewel  into  his  boot.  "  Here  is  gold, 
here  is  the  dwarfs  work!  Come  up  and  take  your  Polotaswarf! 
You  would  not  get  a  richer  out  of  the  Kaiser's  treasury.  Here, 
wolves  and  ravens,  eat  gold,  drink  gold,  roll  in  gold,  and  know 
that  Herew-ard  is  a  man  of  his  word,  and  pays  his  soldiers'  wages 
royally ! " 

They  rushed  up  the  narrow  stair,  trampling  each  other  to  death, 
and  thrust  Hereward  and  the  Earl,  choking,  into  a  corner.  The 
room  was  so  full  for  a  few  moments,  that  some  died  in  it.  Here- 
wai'd  and  Osbiorn,  protected  by  their  strong  armor,  forced  their 
way  to  the  narrow  window,  and  breathed  through  it,  looking  out 
upon  the  sea  of  flame  below. 

"  That  was  an  unlucky  blow,"  said  Hereward,  "  that  fell  upon 
my  head." 

"  Very  unlucky.  I  saw  it  coming,  but  had  no  time  to  warn 
you.     Why  do  you  hold  my  wrist  ?  " 

'•  Men's  daggers  are  apt  to  get  loose  at  such  times  as  these." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  and  Earl  Osbiorn  went  from  him,  and 
into  the  now  thinning  press.  Soon  only  a  few  remained,  to 
search,  by  the  glare  of  the  flames,  for  what  their  fellows  might 
have  overlooked. 

"  Now  the  i^lay  is  played  out,"  said  Hereward,  "  we  may  as 
well  go  down,  and  to  our  ships." 

Some  drunk«n  rutfians  would  have  burnt  the  church  for  mere 
mischief.  But  Osbiorn,  as  well  as  Hereward,  stopped  that.  And 
gradually  they  got  the  mt-n  down  to  the  ships ;  some  drunk,  some 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       251 

struggling  under  plunder  ;  some  cursing  and  quarrelling  because 
nothing  had  fallen  to  their  lot.  It  was  a  hideous  scene ;  but  one 
to  which  Hereward,  as  well  as  Osbiorn,  was  too  well  accustomed 
to  see  aught  in  it  save  an  hour's  inevitable  trouble  in  getting  the 
men  on  board. 

The  monks  had  all  fled.  Only  Leofwin  the  long  was  left,  and 
he  lay  sick  in  the  infinnai-y.  Whether  he  was  burned  therein,  or 
saved  by  Hereward's  men,  is  not  told. 

And  so  was  the  Golden  Borough  sacked  and  bui*nt.  Now 
then,  whither  ? 

The  Danes  were  to  go  to  Ely,  and  join  the  army  there.  Here- 
ward would  march  on  to  Stamford ;  secure  that  town  if  he  could; 
then  to  Huntingdon,  to  secure  it  likewise;  and  on  to  Ely  afterwards. 

"  You  will  not  leave  me  among  these  savages  ?  "  said  Alftruda. 

"  Heaven  forbid  !  You  shall  come  with  me  as  far  as  Stamford, 
and  then  I  will  set  you  on  your  way." 

"  My  way  ?  "  said  Alftruda,  in  a  bitter  and  hopeless  tone. 

Hereward  mounted  her  on  a  good  horse,  and  rode  beside  her, 
looking  —  and  he  well  knew  it  —  a  very  perfect  knight.  Soon 
they  began  to  talk.  What  had  brought  Alftruda  to  Peterborough, 
of  all  places  on  earth  ? 

"  A  woman's  fortune.  Because  I  am  rich,  —  and  some  say 
fair,  —  I  am  a  puppet,  and  a  slave,  a  prey.  I  was  going  back  to 
my,  —  to  Dolfin." 

"  Have  you  been  away  from  him,  then  ?  " 

"  What !     Do  you  not  know  ?  " 

"  How  should  I  know,  lady  ?  " 

"  Yes,  most  true.  How  should  Hereward  know  anything  about 
Alftruda  ?  But  I  will  tell  you.  Maybe  you  may  not  care  to 
hear .?  " 

"  About  you  ?  Anything.  I  have  often  longed  to  know  how, 
—  what  you  were  doing." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  Is  there  one  human  being  left  on  earth  who 
cares  to  hear  about  Alftruda  ?  Then  listen.  You  know  when 
Gospatrick  fled  to  Scotland  his  sons  went  with  him.  Young 
Gospatrick,  Waltheof,*  and  he,  —  Dolfin.  Ethelreda,  his  girl, 
went  too,  —  and  she  is  to  marry,  they  say,  Duncan,  Malcolm's 
eldest  son  by  Ingebiorg.  So  Gospatrick  will  find  himself,  some 
day,  father-in-law  of  the  King  of  Scots." 

"I  will  warrant  him  to  find  his  nest  well  lined,  wherever  he  be. 
But  of  yourself?" 

*  This  Waltheof  Go.spatricksson  must  not  be  confounded  with  Waltheof  Si- 
wardsson,  the  young  Earl.  He  became  a  wild  border  chieftain,  then  Barou  of 
Atterdale,  and  then  gave  Atterdale  to  his  sister  Queen  Ethelreda,  and  turned 
monk,  and  at  last  Abbot,  of  Crowland:  crawling  home,  poor  fellow,  like  many 
another,  to  die  in  peace  iu  the  sanctuary  of  the  Danes. 


252  HEREWARD,   THE   LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

"  I  refused  to  go.  I  could  not  face  again  that  bleak  black 
North.     Beside  —  but  that  is  no  concern  of  Hereward's  —  " 

Hereward  was  on  the  point  of  saying,  "  Can  anything  concern 
you,  and  not  be  interesting  to  me  ?" 

But  she  went  on,  — 

"  I  refused,  and  —  " 

"  And  he  misused  you  ?  "  asked  he,  fiercely. 

"  Better  if  he  had.  Better  if  he  had  tied  me  to  his  stirrup, 
and  scourged  me  along  into  Scotland,  than  have  left  me  to  new 
dangers  and  to  old  temptations." 

"  What  temptations  ?  " 

Alftruda  did  not  answer  ;  but  went  on,  — 

"  He  told  me,  in  his  lofty  Scots'  fashion,  that  I  was  free  to  do 
what  I  list.  That  he  had  long  since  seen  that  I  cared  not  for 
him ;  and  that  he  would  find  many  a  fairer  lady  in  his  own  land." 

"  There  he  lied.  So  you  did  not  care  for  him  ?  He  is  a  noble 
knight." 

"  What  is  that  to  me  ?  Women's  hearts  are  not  to  be  bought 
and  sold  with  their  bodies,  as  I  was  sold.  Care  for  him  ?  I  care 
for  no  creature  upon  earth.  Once  I  cared  for  Hereward,  like  a 
silly  child.     Now  I  care  not  even  for  him." 

Hereward  was  sorry  to  hear  that.  Men  are  vainer  than  women, 
just  as  peacocks  are  vainer  than  peahens ;  and  Hereward  was  — 
alas  for  him  !  —  a  specially  vain  man.  Of  course,  for  him  to  fall 
in  love  with  Alftruda  would  have  been  a  shameful  sin,  —  he  would 
not  have  committed  it  for  all  the  treasures  of  Constantinople ; 
but  it  was  a  not  unpleasant  thought  that  Alftruda  should  fall  in 
love  with  him.     But  he  only  said,  tenderly  and  courteously,  — 

"  Alas,  poor  lady !  " 

"  Poor  lady.  Too  true,  that  last.  For  whither  am  I  going 
now  ?     Back  to  that  man  once  more." 

«  To  Dolfin  ?  " 

"  To  my  master,  like  a  runaway  slave.  I  went  down  South  to 
Queen  Matilda.  I  knew  her  well,  and  she  was  kind  to  me,  as 
she  is  to  all  tilings  that  breathe.  But  now  that  Gospatrick  is 
come  into  the  king's  grace  again,  and  has  bought  the  earldom 
of  Northurabria,  from  Tweed  to  Tyne  —  " 

"  Bought  the  earldom  ?  " 

"  That  has  he  ;  and  paid  for  it  right  heavily." 

"  Traitor  and  fool !  He  will  not  keep  it  seven  years.  The 
Frenchman  will  pick  a  quarrel  with  him,  and  cheat  him  out  of 
earldom  and  money  too." 

The  which  William  did,  within  three  years. 

"  May  it  be  so !  But  when  he  came  into  the  king's  grace,  he 
must  needs  demand  me  back  in  his  son's  name." 


HEREWARD,  THE   LAST   OF  THE   ENGLISH.  253 

''  "What  does  Dolfin  want  with  you  ?  " 

"  His  father  wants  my  money,  and  stipulated  for  it  with  the 
king.  And  beside,  I  suppose  I  am  a  pretty  plaything  enough 
still." 

"  You  ?  You  are  divine,  perfect.  Dolfin  is  right.  How  could 
a  man  who  had  once  enjoyed  you  live  without  you  ?  " 

Alftruda  laughed,  —  a  laugh  full  of  meaning;  but  what  that 
meaning  was,  Hereward  could  not  divine. 

"  So  now,"  she  said,  "  what  Hereward  has  to  do,  as  a  true  and 
courteous  knight,  is  to  give  Alftruda  safe  conduct,  and,  if  he  can, 
a  guard ;  and  to  deliver  her  up  loyally  and  knightly  to  his  old 
friend  and  fellow-warrior,  Dolfin  Gospatricksson,  earl  of  what- 
ever he  can  lay  hold  of  for  the  current  month." 

"  Are  you  in  earnest  ?  " 

Alftruda  laughed  one  of  her  strange  laughs,  looking  straight 
before  her.  Indeed,  she  had  never  looked  Hereward  in  the  face 
during  the  whole  ride. 

"  What  are  those  open  holes  ?     Graves  ?  '* 

"They  are  Barnack  stone-quarries,  which  Alfgar  my  brother 
gave  to  Crowland." 

"  So  ?  That  is  pity.  I  thought  they  had  been  graves  ;  and  then 
you  might  have  covered  me  up  in  one  of  them,  and  left  me  to 
sleep  in  peace." 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  Alftruda,  my  old  play-fellow :  Alf- 
truda, whom  I  saved  from  the  bear  ?  " 

"  If  she  had  foreseen  the  second  monster  into  whose  jaws  she 
was  to  fall,  she  would  have  prayed  you  to  hold  that  terrible  hand 
of  yours,  which  never  since,  men  say,  has  struck  without  victory 
and  renown.  You  won  your  fir.-t  honor  for  my  sake.  But  who 
am  I  now,  that  you  should  turn  out  of  your  glorious  path  for 
me?" 

"  I  will  do  anything,  —  anything.  But  why  miscall  this  noble 
prince  a  monster  ?  " 

"  If  he  were  fairer  than  St.  John,  more  wise  than  Solomon,  and 
more  valiant  than  King  William,  he  is  to  me  a  monster ;  for  I 
loathe  him,  and  I  know  not  why.  But  do  your  duty  as  a  knight, 
sir.     Convey  the  lawful  wife  to  her  lawful  spouse." 

"  What  cares  an  outlaw  for  law,  in  a  knd  where  law  is  dead 
and  gone  ?  I  will  do  what  I  —  what  you  like.  Come  with  me 
to  Torfrida  at  Bourne ;  and  let  me  see  the  man  who  dares  try  to 
take  you  out  of  my  hand." 

Alftruda  laughed  again. 

"  No,  no.  I  should  interrupt  the  little  doves  in  their  nest. 
Beside," the  billing  and  cooing  might  make  me  envious.  And 
I,  alas !  who  carry  misery  with  me  round  the  land,  might  make 
yoiir  Torfrida  jealous." 


254  HEREWARD,   TPIE   LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH. 

Here  ward  was  of  the  same  opinion,  and  rode  silent  and  thought- 
ful through  the  great  woods  which  are  now  the  noble  park  of 
Burgh  ley. 

"  I  have  found  it ! "  said  he  at  last.  "  Why  not  go  to  Gilbert 
of  Ghent,  at  Lincoln  ?  " 

"  Gilbert  ?     Why  should  he  befriend  me  ?  " 

"  He  will  do  that,  or  anything  else,  which  is  for  his  own 
profit." 

"Profit?  All  the  world  seems  determined  to  make  profit  out 
of  me.  I  presume  you  would,  if"  I  had  come  with  you  to 
Bourne." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it.  This  is  a  very  wild  sea  to  swim  in  ;  and  a 
man  must  be  forgiven,  if  he  catches  at  every  bit  of  drift-timber." 

"  Selfishness,  selfishness  everywhere  ;  — and  I  suppose  you  ex- 
pect to  gain  by  sending  me  to  Gilbert  of  Ghent  ?  " 

"  I  shall  gain  nothing,  Alftruda,  save  the  thought  that  you  are 
not  so  far  from  me  ^-  from  us  —  but  that  we  can  hear  of  you,  — 
send  succor  to  you  if  you  need." 

Alftruda  was  silent.     At  last  — 

"And  you  think  that  Gilbert  would  not  be  afraid  of  angering 
the  king  ?  " 

"  He  would  not  anger  the  king.  Gilbert's  friendship  is  more 
important  to  William,  at  this  moment,  than  that  of  a  dozen  Gos- 
patricks.  He  holds  Lincoln  town,  and  with  it  the  key  of  Wal- 
theof's  earldom  :  and  things  may  happen,  Alftruda  —  I  tell  you; 
but  if  you  tell  Gilbert,  may  Hereward's  curse  be  on  you  ! " 

"  Not  that !  Any  man's  curse  save  yours ! "  said  she  in  so 
passionate  a  voice  that  a  thrill  of  fire  ran  through  Hereward. 
And  he  recollected  her  scoff  at  Bruges,  —  "  So  he  could  not  wait 
for  me  ? "  And  a  storm  of  evil  thoughts  swept  through  him. 
"  Would  to  heaven  i  "  said  he  to  himself,  crushing  them  gallantly 
down,  "  I  had  never  thought  of  Lincoln.  But  there  is  no  other 
plan." 

But  he  did  not  tell  Alftruda,  as  he  meant  to  do,  that  she  might 
see  him  soon  in  Lincoln  Castle  as  its  conqueror  and  lord.  He 
half  hoped  that  when  that  day  came,  Alftruda  might  be  some- 
wliere  else. 

"  Gilbert  can  say,"  he  went  on,  steadying  himself  again,  "  that 
you  feared  to  go  north  on  account  of  the  disturbed  state  of  the 
country ;  and  that,  as  you  had  given  yourself  up  to  him  of  your 
own  accord,  he  thought  it  wisest  to  detain  you,  as  a  hostage  for 
Dolfin's  allegiance." 

•  "  He  shall  say  so.     I  will  make  him  say  so." 

"  So  be  it.  Now,  here  we  are  at  Stamford  town ;  and  I  must 
to  my  trade.     Do  you  like  to  see  fighting,  Alftruda,  —  the  man's 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       255 

game,  the  royal  game,  the  only  game  worth  a  thought  on   earth  ? 
For  you  are  like  to  see  a  little  in  the  next  ten  minutes." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  you  fight.  Tliey  tell  me  none  is  so  swift 
and  terrible  in  the  battle  as  Hereward.  How  can  you  be  other- 
wise, who  slew  the  bear,  —  when  we  were  two  happy  children  to- 
gether ?      But  shall  I  be  safe  ?  " 

"  Safe  ?  of  course,"  said  Hereward,  who  longed,  peacock-like, 
ko  show  off  his  prowess  before  a  lady  who  was  —  there  was  no 
denying  it  —  far  more  beautiful  than  even  Torfrida. 

But  he  had  no  opportunity  to  show  off  his  prowess.  For  as 
he  galloped  in  over  Stamford  Bridge,  Abbot  Thorold  galloped 
out  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  town  through  Casterton,  and  up  the 
Roman  road  to  Grantham. 

After  whom  Herevvard  sent  Alftruda  (for  he  heard  that  Tlior- 
old  was  going  to  Gilbert  at  Lincoln)  with  a  guard  of  knights,  bid- 
ding them  do  him  no  harm,  but  say  that  Hereward  knew  him 
to  be  a  preux  chevalier  and  lover  of  fair  ladies  ;  that  he  had  sent 
him  a  right  fair  one  to  bear  him  company  to  Lincoln,  and  hoped 
that  he  would  sing  to  her  on  the  way  the  song  of  Roland. 

And  Alftruda,  who  knew  Thorold,  went  willingly,  since  it  could 
no  better  be. 

After  which,  according  to  Gaimar,  Hereward  tarried  three 
days  at  Stamford,  laying  a  heavy  tribute  on  the  burgesses  for  har- 
boring Thorold  and  his  Normans  ;  and  also  surprised  at  a  drink- 
ing-bout a  certain  special  enemy  of  his,  and  chased  him  from  room 
to  room  sword  in  hand,  till  he  took  refuge  shamefully  in  an  out- 
house, and  begged  his  life. 

And  when  his  knights  came  back  from  Grantham,  he  marched 
to  Bourne. 

"  The  next  night,"  says  Leofric  the  deacon,  or  rather  the  monk 
who  paraphrased  his  saga  in  Latin  pro>e,  —  "Herevvard  saw  in 
his  dreams  a  man  standing  by  him  of  inestimable  beauty,  old  of 
years,  terrible  of  countenance,  in  all  the  raiment  of  his  body  more 
splendid  than  all  things  which  he  had  ever  seen,  or  conceived  in 
his  mind ;  who  threatened  him  with  a  great  club  which  he  carried 
in  his  hand,  and  with  a  fearful  doom,  that  he  should  take  back  to 
his  church  all  that  had  been  carried  off  the  night  before,  and 
have  them  restored  utterly,  each  in  its  place,  if  he  wished  to  pro- 
vide for  the  salvation  of  his  soul,  and  escape  on  the  spot  a  pitiable 
death.  But  when  awakened,  he  was  seized  with  a  divine  terror, 
and  restored  in  the  same  hour  all  that  he  took  away,  and  so  de- 
parted, going  onward  with  all  his  men." 

So  says  Leofric,  wishing,  as  may  be  well  believed,  to  advance 
the  glory  of  St.  Peter,  and  purge  his  master's  name  from  the 
Btain  of  sacrilege.     Beside,  the  monks  of  Peterborough  no  doubt 


256       HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

had  no  wish  that  the  world  should  spy  out  their  nakedness,  and 
become  aware  that  the  Golden  Borough  was  sti'ipt  of  all  its  gold. 

Nevertheless,  truth  will  out.  Golden  Borough  was  Golden 
Borough  no  more.  The  treasures  were  never  restored ;  thej 
went  to  sea  with  the  Danes,  and  were  scattered  far  and  wide, — 
to  Norway,  to  Ireland,  to  Denmark ;  "  all  the  spoils,"  says  the 
Anglo-Saxon  Chronicle,  "  which  reached  the  latter  country,  being 
the  pallium  and  some  of  the  shrines  and  crosses ;  and  many  of 
the  other  treasures  they  brought  to  one  of  the  king's  towns,  and 
laid  them  up  in  the  church.  But  one  night,  through  their  care- 
lessness and  drunkenness,  the  church  was  burned,  with  all  that 
was  therein.  Thus  was  the  minster  of  Peterborough  burned 
and  pillaged.  May  Almighty  God  have  pity  on  it  in  His  great 
mercy." 

Hereward,  when  blamed  for  the  deed,  said  always  that  he  did 
it  "  because  of  his  allegiance  to  the  monastery."  Rather  than 
that  the  treasures  gathered  by  Danish  monks  should  fall  into  the 
hands  of  the  Fi"ench  robbers,  let  them  be  given  to  their  own 
Danish  kinsmen,  in  payment  for  their  help  to  English  liberty. 

But  some  of  the  treasure,  at  least,  he  must  have  surely  given 
back,  it  so  appeased  the  angry  shade  of  St.  Peter.  For  on  that 
night,  when  marching  past  Stamford,  they  lost  their  way.  "  To 
whom,  when  they  had  lost  their  way,  a  certain  wonder  happened, 
and  a  miracle,  if  it  can  be  said  that  such  would  be  worked  in 
favor  of  men  of  blood.  For  while  in  the  wild  night  and  dark 
they  wandered  in  the  wood,  a  huge  wolf  met  them,  wagging  his 
tail  like  a  tame  dog,  and  went  before  them  on  a  path.  And  they, 
taking  the  gray  beast  in  the  darkness  for  a  white  dog,  cheered  on 
each  other  to  follow  him  to  his  farm,  which  ought  to  be  hard  by. 
And  in  the  silence  of  the  midnight,  that  they  might  see  their 
way,  suddenly  candles  appeared,  burning,  and  clinging  to  the 
lances  of  all  the  knights,  —  not  very  bright,  however ;  but  like 
those  which  the  folk  call  candelce  nympharam,  —  wills  of  the  wisp. 
But  none  could  pull  them  off,  or  altogether  extinguish  them,  or 
throw  them  from  their  hand-!.  And  thus  they  saw  their  way,  and 
went  on,  although  astonished  out  of  mind,  with  the  wolf  leading 
them,  until  day  dawned,  and  they  saw,  to  their  great  astonish- 
ment, that  he  was  a  wolf.  And  as  they  questioned  among  them- 
selves about  what  had  befallen,  the  wolf  and  the  candles  disap- 
peared, and  they  came  whither  they  had  been  minded,  —  beyond 
Stamford  town,  —  thanking  God,  and  wondering  at  what  had 
happened." 

After  which  Hereward  took  Torfrida,  and  his  child,  and  all  he 
had,  and  took  ship  at  Bardeney,  and  went  for  Ely.  Which 
when  Earl  Warrenne  heard,  he  laid  wait  for  him,  seemingly  near 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH.  257 

Southery :  but  got  nothing  thereby,  according  to  Leofric,  but 
the  pleasure  of  giving  and  taking  a  great  deal  of  bad  language  ; 
and  (utter  his  men  had  refused,  reasonably  enough,  to  swim  the 
Ouse  and  attack  Hereward)  an  arrow,  which  Hereward,  ''  modi- 
cum se  inclinans"  stooping  forward,  says  Leofric,  —  who  proba- 
bly saw  the  deed,  —  shot  at  hira  across  the  Ouse,  as  the  Earl 
stood  cursing  on  the  top  of  the  dike.  Which  arrow  flew  so  stout 
and  strong,  that  though  it  sprang  back  from  Earl  Warrenne's 
hauberk,  it  knocked  him  almost  senseless  off  his  hor^e,  and  forced 
him  to  defer  his  purpose  of  avenging  Sir  Frederic  his  brother. 

After  which  Hereward  threw  himself  into  Ely,  and  assumed, 
by  consent  of  all,  the  command  of  the  English  who  were  therein. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

HOW   THEY  HELD   A   GREAT   MEETING   IN   THE   HALL   OF   ELY. 

There  sat  round  the  hall  of  Ely  all  the  magnates  of  the  East 
land  and  East  sea.  The  Abbot  on  his  high  seat ;  and  on  a  seat 
higher  than  his,  prepared  specially,  Sweyn  UKsson,  King  of 
Denmark  and  England.  By  them  sat  the  Bishops,  Egelvvin  the 
Englishman  and  Christiern  the  Dane,  Osbiorn,  the  young  Earls 
Edwin  and  Morcar,  and  Sweyn's  two  sons ;  and,  it  may  be,  the 
sons  of  Tosti  Godwinsson,  and  Arkill  tlie  great  Thane,  and 
Hereward  himself.  Below  them  were  knights,  viking,-*,  captains, 
great  holders  from  Denmark,  and  the  Prior  and  inferior  officers 
of  Ely  minster.  And  at  the  bottom  of  the  misty  hall,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  column  of  blue  vapor  which  went  trembling  up 
from  the  great  heap  of  burning  turf  amidst,  were  housecarles, 
monks,  wild  men  from  the  Baltic  shores,  crowded  together  to 
hear  what  was  done  in  that  parUament  of  their  betters. 

They  spoke  like  free  Danes  ;  the  betters  from  the  upper  end 
of  the  hall,  but  every  man  as  he  chose.  They  were  in  full 
Thing ;  in  parliament,  as  their  forefathers  had  been  wont  to  be 
for  countless  ages.  Their  House  of  Lords  and  their  House  of 
Commons  were  not  yet  defined  from  each  other :  but  they  knew 
the  rules  of  the  house,  the  courtesies  of  debate ;  and,  by  practice 
of  free  speech,  had  educated  themselves  to  bear  and  forbear,  like 
gentlemen. 

But  the  speaking  was  loud  and  earnest,  often  angry,  that  day. 
"  What  was  to  be  done  ?  "  was  the  question  before  the  house. 

"  That  depended,"  said  Sweyn,  the  wise  and  prudent  king, 
"on  what  could  be  done  by  the  English  to  co-operate  wiih 
them."     And  wiiat   that  was  has    been   already  told. 

"  When  Tosti  Godwinsson,  ye  Bishops,  Earls,  Knight-,  and 
Holdei's,  came  to  me  five  years  ago,  and  bade  me  come  and 
take  the  kingdom  of  England,  I  answered  him,  that  I  had  not 
wit  enough  to  do  the  deeds  which  Canute  my  uncle  did ;  and  so 
sat  still  in  peace.  I  little  thought  that  I  should  have  lost  in  five 
years  so  much  of  those  small  wits  which  I  confessed  to,  that  I 
should  come  after  all  to  take  England,  and  find  two  kings  in  it 
ah-eady,  both  more  to  the  English  mind  than  me.     While  Wil- 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH.  259 

Kam  the  Frenchman  is  king  by  the  sword,  and  Edgar  the  Eng- 
lishman king  by  proclamation  of  Danish  Earls  and  Thanes, 
there  seems  no  room  here  for  Sweyn   Ulfsson." 

"  We  will  make  room  for  you !  We  will  make  a  rid  road 
from  here  to  Winchester ! "  shouted  the  holders  and  knights. 

"  It  is  too  late.  What  say  you,  Hereward  Leofi'icsson,  who 
go  for  a  wise  man  among  men  ? " 

*  Hereward  rose,  and  spoke  gracefully,  earnestly,  eloquently ; 
but  he  could  not  deny  Sweyn's   plain   words. 

"  Sir  Hereward  beats  about  the  bush,"  said  Earl  Osbiorn, 
rising  when  Hereward  sat  down.  "  None  knows  better  than  he 
that  all  is  over.  Earl  Edwin  and  Earl  Morcar,  who  should 
have  helped  us  along  Watling  Street,  are  here  fugitives.  Earl 
Gospatriek  and  Earl  Waltheof  are  William's  men  now,  soon  to 
raise  the  landsfolk  against  us.  We  had  better  go  home,  before 
we  have  eaten  up  the  monks  of  Ely." 

Then  Hereward  rose  again,  and  without  an  openly  insulting 
word,  poured  forth  his  scorn  and  rage  upon  Osbiorn.  Why  had 
he  not  kept  to  the  agreement  which  he  and  Countess  Gyda  liad 
made  with  him  through  Tosti's  sons  ?  Why  had  he  wasted  time 
and  men  from  Dover  to  Norwich,  instead  of  coming  straight  into 
the  fens,  and  marching  inland  to  succor  Morcar  and  Edwin  ? 
Osbiorn  had  ruined  the  plan,  and  he  only,  if  it  was  ruined. 

"  And  who  was  I,  to  obey  Hereward  ?  "  a?ked  Osbiorn,  fiercely. 

"And  who  wert  thou,  to  disobey  me?"  asked  Sweyn,  in  a  ter- 
rible voice.  "  Hereward  is  right.  We  shall  see  what  thou  say- 
est  to  all  this,  in  full  Thing  at  home  in  Denmark." 

Then  Edwin  rose,  entreating  peace.  "  They  were  beaten. 
The  hand  of  God  was  against  them.  Why  should  they  strug- 
gle any  more  ?  Or,  if  they  struggled  on,  why  should  they  in- 
volve the  Danes  in  their  own  ruin  ? " 

Then  holder  alter  holder  ro.^e,  and  spoke  rough  Danish  com- 
mon sense.  Tliey  had  come  hither  to  win  England.  Tliey  had 
found  it  won  already.  Let  them  take  what  they  had  got  from 
Peterborough,  and  go. 

Then  Winter  sprang  up.  "  Take  the  pay,  and  sail  off  with  it, 
without  having  done  the  work?  That  would  be  a  noble  tale  to 
carry  home  to  your  fair  wives  in  Jutland.  I  shall  not  call  you 
niddering,  being  a  man  of  peace,  as  all  know."  Whereat "  all 
laughed  ;  for  the  doughty  little  man  had  not  a  hand's  breadth  on 
head  or  arm  without  its  scar.  "  But  if  your  ladies  call  you  so, 
you  must  have  a  shrewd  answer  to  give,  beside  knocking  them 
down." 

Sweyn  spoke  without  rising:  "The  good  knight  forgets  that 
this  expedition  has  cost  Denmark  already  nigh  as  much  as  Hai'- 


260  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF   THE  ENGLISH. 

old  Hardraade's  cost  Norw^ay.     It  is  hard  upon  the  Danes,  if 
they  are  to  go  away  empty-handed  as  well  as  disappointed." 

"  The  King  has  light !  "  cried  Hereward.  "  Let  them  take 
the  plunder  of  Peterboroush  as  pay  for  what  they  have  done, 
and  what  beside  they  would  have  done  if  Osbiorn  the  Earl  — 
Nay,  men  of  England,  let  us  be  just!  —  what  they  would  have 
done  if  there  had  been  heart  and  wit,  one  mind  and  one  purpose, 
in  England.  The  Danes  have  done  their  best.  They  haveT 
shown  themselves  what  they  are,  our  blood  and  kin.  I  know 
that  some  talk  of  treason,  of  bribes.  Let  us  have  no  more  such 
vain  and  foul  suspicions.  They  came  as  our  friends  ;  and  as  our 
friends  let  them  go,  and  leave  us  to  fight  out  our  own  quarrel  to 
the  last  droj)  of  blood." 

"  Would  God ! "  said  Sweyn,  "  thou  wouldest  go  too,  thou 
good  knight.  Here,  earls  and  gentlemen  of  England !  Sweyn 
Ulfsson  offers  to  every  one  of  you,  who  will  come  to  Denmark 
with  him,  shelter  and  hospitality  till  better  times  shall  come." 

Then  arose  a  mixed  cry.  Some  would  go,  some  would  not. 
Some  of  the  Danes  took  the  proposal  cordially ;  some  feared 
bringing  among  themselves  men  who  would  needs  want  land, 
of  which  there  was  none  to  give.  If  the  English  came,  they 
must  go  up  the  Baltic,  and  conquer  fresh  lands  for  themselves 
from  heathen  Letts  and  Finns. 

Then  Hereward  rose  again,  and  spoke  so  nobly  and  so  well, 
that  all  ears  were  charmed. 

They  were  Englishmen ;  and  they  would  rather  die  in  their 
own  merry  England  than  conquer  new  kingdoms  in  the  cold 
northeast.  They  were  sworn,  the  leaders  of  them,  to  die  or 
conquer,  fighting  the  accursed  Frenchman.  They  were  bound 
to  St.  Peter,  and  to  St.  Guthlac,  and  to  St.  Felix  of  Ramsay, 
and  St.  Etheldreda  the  holy  virgin,  beneath  whose  roof  they 
stood,  to  defend  against  Frenchmen  the  saints  of  England  whom 
they  despised  and  blasphemed,  whose  servants  they  caj^t  out, 
thrust  into  prison,  and  murdered,  that  they  might  bring  in 
Frenchmen  from  Normandy,  Italians  from  the  Pope  of  Rome. 
Sweyn  Ulfsson  spoke  as  became  him,  as  a  prudent  and  a  gener- 
ous prince ;  the  man  who  alone  of  all  kings  defied  and  fought 
the  great  Hardraade  till  neither  could  fight  more ;  the  true 
nephew  of  Canute  the  king  of  kings :  and  they  thanked  him : 
but  they  would  live  and  die  Englishmen. 

And  every  Englishman  shouted,  "  Hereward  has  right !  We 
will  live  and  die  fighting  the  French ! " 

And  Sweyn  Ulfsson  rose  again,  and  said  with  a  great  oath, 
"  That  if  there  had  been  thi-ee  such  men  as  Hereward  in  Eng- 
land, all  would  have  gone  well." 


HEREWAED,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  261 

Hereward  laughed.  "  Thou  art  wrong  for  once,  wise  king. 
"We  have  failed,  just  because  there  were  a  dozen  men  in  England 
as  good  as  me,  every  man  wanting  his  own  way  ;  and  too  many 
cooks  have  spoiled  the  broth.  What  we  wanted  is,  not  a  dozen 
men  like  me,  but  one  like  thee,  to  take  us  all  by  the  back  of  the 
neck  and  shake  us  soundly,  and  say,  '  Do  that,  or  die  ! ' " 

And  so,  after  much  talk,  the  meeting  broke  up.  And  when  it 
broke  •  up,  there  came  to  Hereward  in  the  hall  a  noble-looking 
man  of  his  own  age,  and  put  his  hand  within  his,  and  said, — 

"  Do  you  not  know  me,  Hereward  Leofricssou  ?  " 

"  I  know  thee  not,  good  knight,  more  pity ;  but  by  thy  dress 
and  carriage,  thou  shouldest  be  a  true  Vikingsson." 

"  I  "am  Sigtryg  Ranaldsson,  now  King  of  Waterford.  And 
my  wife  said  to  me,  '  If  there  be  treachery  or  faint-heartedness, 
remember  this,  —  that  Hereward  Leofricsson  slew  the  Ogre,  and 
Hannibal  of  Gweek  likewise,  and  brought  me  safe  to  thee.  And, 
therefore,  if  thou  provest  false  to  him,  niddering  thou  art ;  and 
no  niddering  is  spouse  of  mine.' " 

"  Thou  art  Sigtryg  Ranaldsson  ? "  cried  Hereward,  clasping 
him  in  his  arms,  as  the  scenes  of  his  wild  youth  rushed  across 
his  mind.  "  Better  is  old  wine  than  new,  and  old  friends  like- 
wise." 

"  And  I,  and  my  five  ships,  are  thine  to  death.  Let  who  will 
go  back." 

"  They  must  go,"  said  Hereward,  half-peevishly.  "  Sweyn  has 
right,  and  Osbiorn  too.  The  game  is  played  out.  Sweep  the 
chessmen  off  the  board,  as  Earl  Ulf  did  by  Canute  the  king." 

"And  lost  his  life  thereby.  I  shall  stand  by,  and  see  thee 
play  the  last  pawn." 

"  And  lose  thy  life  equally." 

"  What  matter  ?     I  heard  thee  sing,  — 

'  A  bed-death,  a  priest  death, 
A  straw  death,  a  cow  death,  __ 

Such  death  likes  not  me ! ' 

Nor  likes  it  me  either,  Hereward  Leofricsson." 

So  the  Danes  sailed  away :  but  Sigtryg  Ranaldsson  and  his 
five  ships  remained. 

Hereward  went  to  the  minster  tower,  and  watched  the  Ouse 
flashing  with  countless  oars  northward  toward  Southrey  Fen. 
And  when  they  were  all  out  of  sight,  he  went  back,  and  lay 
down  on  his  bed  and  wept,  —  once  and  for  all.  Then  he  aro-e, 
and  went  down  into  the  hall  to  abbots  and  monks,  and  earls 
and  knights,  and  was  the  boldest,  cheeriest,  wittiest  of  them 
all. 

"  They  say,"  quoth  he  to  Torfrida  that  night,  "  that  some  men 


262  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

have  gray  heads  on  green  shoulders.  I  have  a  gray  heart  in  a 
green  body." 

"  And  my  heart  is  growing  very  gray,  too,"  said  Torfrida. 

"  Certainly  not  thy  head."  And  he  played  with  her  ravea 
locks. 

"  That  may  come,  too  ;  and  too  soon." 

For,  indeed,  they  were  in  very  evil  case. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

HOW  THEY   FOUGHT   AT   ALDRETH. 

When  William  heai'd  that  the  Danes  were  gone,  he  marched 
on  Ely,  as  on  an  easy  prey. 

Ivo  Taillebois  came  with  him,  hungry  after  those  Spalding 
lands,  the  rents  whereof  Herevvard  had  been  taking  for  his  men 
for  now  twelve  months.  William  de  Warrenne  was  there,  vowed 
to  revenge  the  death  of  Sir  Frederic,  his  brother.  Ralph  Gua- 
der  was  there,  flushed  with  his  success  at  Norwich.  And  with 
them  all  the  Frenchmen  of  the  east,  who  had  been  either  ex- 
pelled from  their  lands,  or  were  in  fear  of  expulsion. 

With  them,  too,  was  a  great  army  of  mercenaries,  ruffians  from 
all  France  and  Flanders,  hired  to  tight  for  a  certain  term,  on  the 
chance  of  plunder  or  of  fiefs  in  land.  Their  brains  were  all 
aflame  with  the  tales  of  inestimable  riches  hidden  in  Ely.  There 
were  there  the  jewels  of  all  the  monasteries  round  ;  there  were 
the  treasures  of  all  the  fugitive  English  nobles ;  there  were  there 
—  what  was  there  not  ?  And  they  grumbled,  when  William 
halted  them  and  hutted  them  at  Cambridge,  and  began  to  feel 
cautiously  the  strength  of  the  place,  —  which  must  be  strong,  or 
Hereward  and  the  English  would  not  have  made  it  their  camp 
of  refuge. 

Perhaps  he  rode  up  to  Madingley  windmill,  and  saw  fifteen 
miles  away,  clear  against  the  sky,  the  long  line  of  what  seemed 
naught  but  a  low  upland  park,  with  the  minster  tower  among  the 
trees  ;  and  between  him  and  them,  a  rich  champaign  of  grass, 
over  which  it  was  easy  enough  to  march  all  the  armies  of  Eu- 
rope ;  and  thought  Ely  an  easy  place  to  take.  But  men  told 
him  that  between  him  and  those  trees  lay  a  black  abyss  of  mud 
and  peat  and  reeds,  Haddenham  fen  and  Smithy  fen,  with  the 
deep  sullen  West  water  or  "Ald-reche"  of  the  Ouse  winding 
through  them.  The  old  Roman  road  was  sunk  and  gone  long 
since  under  the  bog,  whether  by  English  neglect,  or  whether  (as 
some  think)  by  actual  and  bodily  sinking  of  the  whole  land. 
The  narrowest  space  between  dry  land  and  dry  land  was  a  full 
half-mile ;  and  how  to  cross  that  half-mile,  no  man  knew. 

What  were  the  approaches  on  the  west  ?     There  were  none. 


264  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

Beyond  Earith,  where  now  run  the  great  washes  of  the  Bedford 
Level,  was  a  howling  wilderness  of  meres,  seas,  reed-ronds,  and 
floating  alder-beds,  through  which  only  the  fen-men  wandered, 
with  leaping-pole  and  log  canoe. 

What  in  the  east  ?  The  dry  land  neared  the  island  on  that 
side.  And  it  may  be  that  William  rowed  round  by  Burwell  to 
Fordham  and  Sohara,  and  thought  of  attempting  the  island  by 
way  of  Barraway,  and  saw  beneath  him  a  labyrinth  of  islands, 
meres,  fens,  with  the  Ouse,  now  increased  by  the  volume  of  the 
Cam,  lying  deep  and  broad  between  Barraway  and  Thetford-in- 
the-Isle  ;  and  saw,  too,  that  a  disaster  in  that  labyrinth  might  be 
a  destruction. 

So  he  determined  on  the  near  and  straight  path,  through  Long 
Stratton  and  Willingham,  down  the  old  bridle-way  from  WiUing- 
ham  ploughed  field,  —  every  village  there,  and  in  the  isle  like- 
wise, had  and  has  still  its  "  field,"  or  ancient  clearing  of  ploughed 
land,  —  and  then  to  try  that  terrible  half-mile,  with  the  courage 
and  wit  of  a  general  to  whom  human  lives  were  as  those  of  the 
gnats  under  the  hedge. 

So  all  his  host  camped  themselves  in  Willingham  field,  by  the 
old  earthwork  which  men  now  call  Belsar's  Hills ;  and  down  the 
bridle-way  poured  countless  men,  bearing  timber  and  fagots  cut 
from  all  the  hills,  that  they  might  bridge  the  black  half-mile. 

They  made  a  narrow,  firm  path  through  the  reeds,  and  down 
to  the  brink  of  the  Ouse,  if  brink  it  could  be  called,  where  the 
water,  rising  and  falling  a  foot  or  two  each  tide,  covered  the  float- 
ing peat  for  many  yards  before  it  sunk  into  a  brown  depth  of 
bottomless  slime.  They  would  make  a  bottom  for  themselves  by 
driving  piles. 

The  piles  would  not  hold ;  and  they  began  to  make  a  floating 
bi'idge  with  long  beams,  says  Leofric,  and  blown-up  cattle-hides 
to  float  them. 

Soon  they  made  a  floating  sow,  and  thrust  it  on  before  them  as 
they  worked  across  the  stream ;  for  they  were  getting  under  shot 
from  the  island. 

Meanwhile  the  besieged  had  not  been  idle.  They  had  thrown 
up,  says  Leofric,  a  turf  rampart  on  the  island  shore,  and  "  ante- 
muralia  et  propugnacula,"  —  doubtless  overhanging  "hoardings," 
or  scaffolds,  through  the  floor  of  which  they  could  shower  down 
missiles.  And  so  they  awaited  the  attack,  contenting  themselves 
with  gliding  in  and  out  of  the  reeds  in  their  canoes,  and  annoying 
the  builders  with  arrows  and  cross-bow  bolts. 

At  last  the  bridge  was  finished,  and  the  sow  safe  across  the 
West  water,  and  thrust  in,  as  far  as  it  would  float,  among  the 
reeds  on  the  high  tide.  They  in  the  fort  could  touch  it  with 
a  pole. 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       2G5 

The  English  would  have  destroyed  it  if  they  could.  But 
Hereward  bade  them  leave  it  alone.  He  had  watched  all  their 
work,  and  made  up  his  mind  to  the  event. 

'•  The  rats  have  set  a  trap  for  themselves,"  he  said  to  his  men, 
"and  we  shall  be  fools  to  break  it  uj)  till  the  rats  are  safe  inside." 

So  there  the  huge  sow  lay,  black  and  silent,  showing  nothing 
to  the  enemy  but  a  side  of  strong  plank,  covered  with  hide  to 
prevent  its  being  burned.  It  lay  there  for  three  hours,  and  Here- 
ward let  it  lie. 

He  had  never  been  so  cheerful,  so  confident.  "  Play  the  man 
this  day,  every  one  of  you,  and  ere  nightfall  you  will  have  taught 
the  Norinan  once  moi"e  tlie  lesson  of  York.  He  seems  to  have 
forgotten  that.     It  is  me  to  remind  him  of  it." 

And  he  looked  to  his  bow  and  to  his  arrows,  and  prepared  to 
play  the  man  himself,  —  as  was  the  fashion  in  those  old  days, 
when  a  general  proved  his  worth  by  hitting  harder  and  moro 
surely  than  any  of  his  men. 

At  last  the  army  was  in  motion,  and  Willingham  field  opposite 
was  like  a  crawling  ants'  nest.  Brigade  after  brigade  moved 
down  to  the  reed  beds,  and  the  assault  began. 

And  now  advanced  along  the  causeway  and  along  the  bridge 
a  dark  column  of  men,  surmounted  by  glittering  steel.  Knights 
in  complete  Itnail,  footmen  in  leather  coats  and  quilted  jerkins ; 
at  first  orderly  enough,  each  under  the  banner  of  his  lord  ;  but 
more  and  more  mingled  and  crowded  as  they  hurried  forward, 
each  eager  for  his  selfish  share  of  the  inestimable  treasures  of 
pjly.  They  pushed  along  the  bridge.  The  mass  became  more 
and  more  crowded ;  men  stumbled  over  each  other,  and  fell  off 
into  the  mire  and  the  water,  calHng  vainly  for  help,  while  their 
comrades  hurried  on  unheeding,  in  the  mad  thirst  for  spoil. 

On  they  came  in  thousands ;  and  fresh  thousands  streamed  out 
of  the  fields,  as  if  the  whole  army  intended  to  pour  itself  into  the 
isle  at  once. 

"  They  are  numberless,"  said  Torfrida,  in  a  serious  and  aston- 
ished voice,  as  she  stood  by  Hereward's  side. 

"  Would  they  were  !  "  said  Hereward.  "  Let  them  come  on, 
thick  and  threefold.  The  more  their  numbers  the  fatter  will  the 
fish  below  be  before  to-morrow  morning.     Look  there,  already  !  " 

And  already  the  bridge  was  swaj'ing,  and  sinking  beneath 
their  weight.  The  men  in  places  were  ankle  deep  in  water. 
They  rushed  on  all  the  more  eagerly,  and  filled  the  sow,  and 
swarmed  up  to  its  roof 

Then,  wliat  with  its  own  weight,  what  with  the  weight  of  the 
laden  bridge,  —  which  dragged  upon  it  from  behind,  —  the  Imge 
sow  began  to  tilt  backwards,  and  slide  down  the  slimy  bank. 
12 


266       HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

The  men  on  the  top  tried  vainly  to  keep  their  footing,  to  hurl 
grapnels  into  the  rampart,  to  shoot  off  their  quarrels  and  arrows. 

"  You  must  be  quick,  Frenchmen,"  shouted  Hereward  in  de- 
rision, "  if  you  mean  to  come  on  board  here." 

The  Normans  knew  that  well ;  and  as  Hereward  spoke  tAvo 
panels  in  the  front  of  the  sow  creaked  on  their  hinges,  and 
dropped  landward,  forming  two  draw-bridges,  over  which  reeled 
to  the  attack  a  close  body  of  knights,  mingled  with  soldiers  bear- 
ing scaling  ladders.  • 

They  recoiled.  Between  the  ends  of  the  draw-bridges  and  the 
foot  of  the  rampart  was  some  two  fathoms'  depth  of  black  ooze. 
The  catastrophe  which  Hereward  had  foreseen  was  come,  and  a 
shout  of  derision  arose  from  the  unseen  defenders  above. 

"  Come  on,  —  leap  it  like  men  !  Send  back  for  your  horses, 
kniglit-,  and  ride  them  at  it  like  bold  huntsmen  ! " 

The  front  rank  could  not  but  rush  on  :  for  the  pressure  behind 
forced  them  forward,  whether  they  would  or  not.  In  a  moment 
they  were  wallowing  waist  deep,  trampled  on,  and  disappearing 
under  their  struggHng  comrades,  who  disappeared  in  their  turn. 

"  Look,  Torfrida !  If  tliey  plant  their  scaling  ladders,  it  will 
be  on  a  foundation  of  their  comrades'  corpses."  Torfrida  gave 
one  glance  through  the  openings  of  the  hoarding,  upon  the  writh- 
ing mass  below,  and  turned  away  in  horror.  The  men  were 
not  so  merciful.  Down  between  the  hoarding-beams  rained 
stones,  javelins,  arrows,  increasing  the  agony  and  death.  The 
scaling  ladders  would  not  stand  in  the  mire.  If  they  had  stood 
a  moment,  the  struggles  of  the  dying  would  have  thrown  them 
down  ;  and  still  fresh  victims  pressed  on  from  behind,  shouting 
"  Dex  Aie  !  On  to  the  gold  of  Ely  ! "  And  still  the  sow,  under 
the  weight,  slipped  further  and  further  back  into  the  stream,  and 
the  foul  gulf  widened  between  besiegers  and  besieged. 

At  last  one  scaling  ladder  was  planted  upon  the  bodies  of  the 
dead,  and  hooked  firmly  on  the  gunwale  of  the  hoarding.  Ere 
it  could  be  hurled  off  again  by  the  English,  it  was  so  crowded 
with  men  that  even  Hereward's  strength  was  insufficient  to  lift  it 
off.  He  stood  at  the  top,  ready  to  hew  down  the  first  comer ; 
and  he  hewed  him  down. 

But  the  Normans  were  not  to  be  daunted.  Man  after  man 
dropped  dead  from  the  ladder  top,  —  man  after  man  took  his 
place  ;  sometimes  two  at  a  time  ;  sometimes  scrambling  over 
each  other's  backs. 

The  English,  even  in  the  insolence  of  victory,  cheered  them 
with  honest  admiration.  "  You  ai"e  fellows  worth  fighting,  you 
French ! " 

"  So  we  are,"  shouted  a  knight,  the  first  and  laat  who  crossed 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.      267 

that  parapet ;  for,  thrusting  Hereward  back  with  a  blow  of  his 
sword-hilt,  he  staggered  past  him  over  the  hoarding,  and  fell  on 
his  knees. 

A  dozen  men  were  upon  him ;  but  he  was  up  again  and  shout- 
ing,— 

"  To  me,  men-at-arms  !  A  Dade  !  a  Dade  !  "  But  no  man  an- 
swered. 

"  Yield  !  "  quoth  Hereward. 

Sir  Dade  answered  by  a  blow  on  Here  ward's  helmet,  which 
felled  the  chief  to  his  knees,  and  broke  the  sword  into  twenty 
splinters. 

"  Well  hit,"  said  Hei-eward,  as  he  rose.  "  Don't  touch  him, 
men !  this  is  ray  quarrel  now.  Yield,  sir !  you  have  done  enough 
for  your  honor.     It  is  madness  to  throw  away  your  life." 

The  knight  looked  round  on  the  fierce  ring  of  faces,  in  the 
midst  of  which  he  stood  alone. 

"  To  none  but  Hereward." 

"  Hereward  am  I." 

"  Ah,"  said  the  knight,  "  had  I  but  hit  a  little  harder ! " 

"  You  would  have  broke  your  sword  into  more  splinters.  My 
armor  is  enchanted.    So  yield  like  a  reasonable  and  valiant  man." 

"  What  cai'e  I  ?  "  said  the  knight,  stepping  on  to  the  earthwork, 
and  sitting  down  quietly.  "  I  vowed  to  St.  Mary  and  King  Wil- 
liam that  into  Ely  I  would  get  this  day ;  and  in  Ely  I  am  ;  so  I 
have  done  my  work." 

"  And  now  you  shall  taste  —  as  such  a  gallant  knight  deserves 

—  the  hospitality  of  Ely." 

It  was  Torfiida  who  spoke. 

"  My  husband's  prisoners  are  mine ;  'and  I,  when  I  find  them 
such  'prudhommes  as  you  are,  have  no  lighter  chains  for  them 
than  that  which  a  lady's  bower  can  afford." 

Sir  Dade  was  going  to  make  an  equally  courteous  answer, 
when  over  and  above  the  shouts  and  curses  of  the  combatants 
rose  a  yell  so  keen,  so  dreadful,  as  made  all  hurry  forward  to  the 
rampart. 

That  which  Hereward  had  foreseen  was  come  at  last.  The 
bridge,  strained  more  and  more  by  its  living  burden,  and  by  the^ 
falling  tide,  had  parted,  —  not  at  the  Ely  end,  where  the  sliding 
of  the  sow  took  off  the  pressure,  —  but  at  the  end  nearest  the 
camp.  One  sideway  roll  it  gave,  and  then,  turning  over,  engulfed 
in  that  foul  stream  the  flower  of  Norman  chivalry;  leaving  a  line 

—  a  full  quarter  of  a  mile  in  length  —  of  wretches  drowning  in 
the  dark  water,  or,  more  hideous  still,  in  the  bottomless  slime  of 
peat  and  mud. 

Thousands  are  said  to  have  perished.     Their  armor  and  weap- 


268  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

ons  were  found  at  times,  by  delvers  and  dikers,  for  centuries 
after ;  are  found  at  times  unto  this  day,  beneath  the  rich  drained 
cornfields  which  now  fill  up  that  black  half-mile,  or  in  the  bed  of 
the  narrow  brook  to  which  the  Westwater,  robbed  of  its  strejuns 
by  the  Bedford  Level,  has  dwindled  down  at  last. 

William,  they  say,  struck  his  tents  and  departed  forthwith, 
groaning  fi-om  deep  grief  of  heart ;  and  so  ended  the  first  battle 
of  Aldreth. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

HOW   SIR   DADE   BROUGHT   NEWS   FROM   ELY. 

A  MONTH  after  the  figlit,  there  came  into  the  camp  at  Cam- 
bridge, riding  on  a  good  horse,  himself  fat  and  well-liking,  none 
other  than  Sir  Dade. 

Boisterously  he  was  received,  as  one  alive  from  the  dead ;  and 
questioned  as  to  his  adventures  and  sufferings. 

"  Adventures  I  have  had,  and  strange  ones ;  but  for  sufferings, 
instead  of  fetter-galls,  I  bring  back,  as  you  see,  a  new  suit  of 
clothes ;  instead  of  an  empty  and  starved  stomach,  a  surfeit  from 
good  victuals  and  good  liquor ;  and  whereas  I  went  into  Ely  on 
foot,  I  came  out  on  a  fast  hackney." 

So  into  William's  tent  he  went;  and  there  he  told  his  tale. 

"  So,  Dade,  my  friend  ?"  quoth  the  Duke,  in  high  good  humor,  for 
he  loved  Dade,  "  you  seem  to  have  been  in  good  company  ?  " 

"  Never  in  better.  Sire,  save  in  your  presence.  Of  the  earls 
and  knights  in  Ely,  all  I  can  say  is,  God's  pity  that  they  are 
rebels,  for  more  gallant  and  courteous  knights  or  more  perfect 
warriors  never  saw  I,  neither  in  Normandy  nor  at  Constantino- 
ple, among  the  Varangers  tliemselves." 

"  Eh  1  and  what  are  the  names  of  these  gallants  ;  for  you  have 
used  your  eyes  and  ears,  of  course  ?  " 

"  Edwin  and  Morcur,  the  earls,  —  two  fine  young  lads." 

"  I  know  it.  Go  on " ;  and  a  shade  passed  over  "William's 
brow,  as  he  thought  of  his  own  falsehood,  and  his  fair  Constance, 
weeping  in  vain  for  the  fair  bridegroom  whom  he  had  promised 
to  her. 

"  Siward  Barn,  as  they  call  him,  the  boy  Orgar,  and  Thurkill 
Barn.  Those  are  the  kniglits.  Egelwin,  bishop  of  Durham,  is 
there  too ;  and  besides  them  all,  and  above  them  all,  Ilereward. 
The  like  of  that  knight  I  may  have  seen.  His  better  saw  I 
never." 

"  Sir  fool !  "  said  Earl  Warrenne,  who  had  not  yet  —  small 
blame  to  him  —  forgotten  his  brother's  death.  "  They  have 
soused  thy  brains  with  their  muddy  ale,  till  thou  knowest  not 
Ijiend  from  foe.  What  hast  thou  to  come  hither  praising  up  to 
the  King's  Majesty  such  an  outlawed  villain  as  tliat,  with  whom 
no  honest  knight  would  keep  company  ?  " 


270  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

"  If  you,  Earl  Warrenne,  ever  found  Dade  drunk  or  lying,  it  is 
more  than  the  King  here  has  done." 

"  Let  him  speak,  Earl,"  said  William.  "  I  have  not  an  hon- 
ester  man  in  my  camp  ;  and  he  speaks  for  my  information,  not 
for  yours." 

"  Then  for  yours  will  I  speak,  Sir  King.  These  men  treated 
me  knightly,  and  sent  me  away  without  ransom." 

"  They  had  an  eye  to  their  own  profit,  it  seems,"  grumbled  the 
Earl. 

"  But  force  me  they  did  to  swear  on  the  holy  Gospels  that  I 
should  tell  your  Majesty  the  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing 
but  the  truth.     And  I  keep  my  oath,"  quoth  Dade. 

"  Go  on,  then,  without  fear  or  favor.  Are  there  any  other 
men  of  note  in  the  island  !  " 

"  No." 

"  Are  they  in  want  of  provisions  ?  " 

"  Look  how  they  have  fattened  me." 

"What  do  they  complain  of?"" 

"  I  will  tell  you,  Sir  King.  The  monks,  like  many  more,  took 
friglit  at  the  coming  over  of  our  French  men  of  God  to  set  right 
all  their  filthy,  barbarous  ways ;  and  that  is  why  they  threw  Ely 
open  to  the  rebels." 

"  I  will  be  even  with  the  sots,"  quoth  William. 

"  However,  they  think  that  danger  blown  over  just  now  ;  for 
they  have  a  story  among  them,  which,  as  my  Lord  the  King  never 
heard  before,  he  may  as  well  hear  now." 

"  Eh  ?  " 

"  How  your  Majesty  should  have  sent  across  the  sea  a  whole 
shipload  of  French  monks." 

"  That  have  I,  and  will  more,  till  I  reduce  these  swine  into 
something  like  obedience  to  his  Holiness  of  Rome." 

"  Ah,  but  your  Majesty  has  not  heard  how  one  Bruman,  a 
valiant  English  knight,  was  sailing  on  the  sea  and  cauglit  those 
monks.  Whereon  he  tied  a  great  sack  to  the  ship's  head,  and  cut 
the  bottom  out,  and  made  every  one  of  those  monks  get  into  that 
sack  and  so  fall  through  into  the  sea ;  whereby  he  rid  the  monks 
of  Ely  of  their  rivals." 

"  Pish  !  why  tell  me  such  an  old-wives'  fable,  knight  ?  " 

"  Because  the  monks  believe  that  old-wives'  fable,  and  are 
stout-hearted  and  stiff-necked  accoi'dingly." 

*'  The  blood  of  martyrs  is  the  seed  of  the  Church,"  said  Wil- 
liam's chai)lain,  a  pupil  and  friend  of  Lanfranc;  "and  if  these 
men  of  Belial  drowned  every  man  of  God  in  Normandy,  ten 
would  spring  up  in  their  places  to  convert  this  benighted  and  be- 
sotted land  of  Simonites  and  Balaamites,  whose  priests,  like  the 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH.  271 

brutes  which  perish,  scruple  not  to  defile  themselves  and  the  ser- 
vice of  the  altar  with  things  which  they  impudently  call  their 
wives." 

'•  We  know  that,  good  chaplain,"  quoth  William,  impatiently. 
He  had  enough  of  that  language  from  Lanfranc  himself;  and, 
moreover,  was  thinking  more  of  the  Isle  of  Ely  than  of  the  celi- 
bacy of  the  clergy. 

"Well,  Sir  Dade?" 

"  So  they  have  got  together  all  their  kin ;  for  among  these 
monks  every  one  is  kin  to  a  Thane,  or  Knight,  or  even  an  Earl. 
And  there  they  are,  brother  by  brother,  cousin  by  cousin,  knee 
to  knee,  and  back  to  back,  like  a  pack  of  wolves,  and  that  in  a 
hold  which  you  will  not  enter  yet  awhile.'" 

"  Does  my  friend  Dade  doubt  his  Duke's  skill  at  last  ?  " 

"  Sir  Duke,  —  Sir  King  I  mean  now,  for  King  you  are  and 
deserve  to  be,  —  I  know  what  you  can  do.  I  remember  how  we 
took  England  at  one  blow  on  Senlac  field ;  but  see  you  here,  Sir 
King.  How  will  you  take  an  island  where  four  kings  such  as 
you  (if  the  world  would  hold  four  such  at  once)  could  not  stop 
one  churl  fronv  ploughing  the  land,  or  one  bird-catcher  from  set- 
ting lime-twigs  ?  " 

"  And  what  if  I  cannot  stop  the  bird-catchers  ?  Do  they  ex- 
pect to  lime  Frenchmen  as  easily  as  sparrows  ? " 

"  Sparrows  !  It  is  not  sparrows  that  I  have  been  fattening  ou 
this  last  month.  I  tell  you.  Sire,  I  have  seen  wild-fowl  alone  in 
that  island  enough  to  feed  them  all  the  year  round.  I  was  there 
in  the  moulting-time,  and  saw  them  take,  —  one  day  one  hun- 
dred, one  two  hundred ;  and  once,  as  I  am  a  belted  knight,  a 
thousand  duck  out  of  one  single  mere.  There  is  a  wood  there, 
with  herons  sprawling  about  the  tree-tops,  —  I  did  not  think  there 
were  so  many  in  the  world,  —  and  fish  for  Lent  and  Fridays  in 
every  puddle  and  leat,  pike  and  perch,  tench  and  eels,  on  every 
old-wife's  table ;  while  the  knights  think  scorn  of  anything  worse 
than  smelts  and  burbot." 

"  Splendeur  Dex!"  quoth  William,  who,  Normanlike,  did  not 
dislike  a  good  dinner.     "  I  must  keep  Lent  in  Ely  before  I  die." 

"  Then  you  had  best  make  peace  with  the  burbot-eating 
knights,  my  lord." 

"  But  have  they  flesh-meat?  " 

"  The  isle  is  half  of  it  a  garden,  —  richer  land,  they  say,  is 
none  in  these  realms,  and  I  believe  it :  but,  besides  that,  there  is 
a  deer-park  there  with  a  thousand  head  in  it,  red  and  fallow ; 
and  plenty  of  swine  in  woods,  and  sheep,  and  cattle  ;  and  if  they 
fail,  there  are  plenty  more  to  be  got,  they  know  where." 

"  They  know  where  ?  Do  you.  Sir  Knight  ?  "  asked  William, 
keenly. 


272       HEKEWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

"  Out  of  eveiy  little  island  in  their  fens,  for  forty  miles  on  end. 
There  are  the  herds  fattening  themselves  on  the  richest  pastures 
in  the  land,  and  no  man  needing  to  herd  them,  for  they  are  all 
safe  among  dikes  and  meres." 

"  I  will  make  my  boats  sweep  their  fens  clear  of  every 
head—" 

"  Take  care,  my  Lord  King,  lest  never  a  boat  come  back  from 
that  errand.  With  their  narrow  flat-bottomed  punts,  cut  out  of  a 
single  log,  and  their  leaping-poles,  wherewith  they  fiy  over  dikes 
of  thirty  feet  in  Avidth,  —  they  can  ambuscade  in  those  reed-beds 
and  alder-beds,  kill  wliom  they  will,  and  then  flee  away  through 
the  marsh  like  so  many  horse-flies.  And  if  not,  one  trick  have 
they  left,  which  they  riever  try  save  when  driven  into  a  corner: 
but  from  that,  may  all  saints  save  us ! " 

"  What  then  ?  " 

"  Firing  the  reeds." 

"And  destroying  their  own  cover?" 

"  True  :  therefore  they  will  only  do  it  in  despair." 

"  Then  to  despair  will  I  drive  them,  and  try  their  wors't.  So 
these  monks  are  as  stout  rebels  as  the  earls  ?  "        • 

"  I  only  say  what  I  saw.  At  the  hall-table  there  dined  each 
day  maybe  some  fifty  belted  knights,  with  every  one  a  monk  next 
to  him ;  and  at  the  high  table  the  abbot,  and  the  three  earls,  and 
Horeward  and  his  lady,  and  Thurkill  Barn,  And  behind  each 
knight,  and  each  monk  likewise,  hung  against  the  wall  lance  and 
shield,  helmet  and  hauberk,  sword  and  axe." 

"  To  monk  as  well  as  knight?  " 

"As  I  am  a  knight  myself;  and  were  as  well  used,  too,  for 
aught  I  saw.  The  monks  took  turns  with  the  knights  as  sentries, 
and  as  foragers,  too ;  and  the  knights  themselves  told  me  openly, 
the  monks  were  as  good  men  as  they." 

"  As  wicked,  you  mean,"  groaned  the  chaplain.  "  O,  accursed 
and  bloodthirsty  race,  why  does  not  the  earth  open  and  swallow 
you,  with  Korah,  Dathan.  and  Abiram?" 

"  Tliey  would  not  mind,"  quoth  Dade.  "  They  are  born  and 
bred  in  the  bottomless  pit  already.  They  would  jump  over,  or 
flounder  out,  as  they  do  to  their  own  bogs  every  day." 

"  You  speak  irreverently,  my  friend,"  quoth  William. 

"Ask  those  who  are  in  camp,  and  not  me.  As  for  whither  they 
w^ent,  or  how,  the  English  were  not  likely  to  tell  me.  All  I  know 
is,  that  I  saw  fresh  cattle  come  every  few  days,  and  fresh  farms 
burnt,  too,  on  tiie  Norfolk  side.  Tliere  were  farms  burning  last 
night  only,  between  here  and  Cambridge.  Ask  your  sentinels  on 
the  Rech-dike  how  that  came  about  ?  " 

"  I  can  answer  that,"  quoth  a  voice  from  the  other  end  of  the 


HEREWARD,  THE   LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH.  273 

tent.     "  I  was  on  the  Rech-dike  last  night,  close  down  to  the  fen, 
—  worse  luck  and  shame  for  me." 

"  Answer,  then !  "  quoth  William,  with  one  of  his  horrible 
oaths,  glad  to  have  some  one  on  whom  he  could  turn  his  rage 
and  disappointment. 

"  There  came  seven  men  in  a  boat  up  from  Ely  yestereven, 
and  five  of  them  were  monks  ;  they  came  up  from  Burwell  fen, 
and  plundered  and  burnt  Burwell  town." 

"  And  where  were  all  you  mighty  men  of  vvar  ?  " 

"  Ten  of  us  ran  down  to  stop  them,  with  Richard,  Earl  Os- 
bern's  nephew,  at  their  head.  The  villains  got  to  the  top  of  the 
Rech-dike,  and  made  a  stand,  and  before  we  could  get  to 
them  —  " 

"  Thy  men  had  run,  of  course." 

"  They  were  every  one  dead  or  wounded,  save  Richard  ;  and 
he  was  fighting  single-handed  with  an  Englishman,  while  the 
other  six  stood  around,  and  looked  on." 

"  Then  they  fought  fairly  ?  "  said  William. 

"  A5  fairly,  to  do  them  justice,  as  if  they  had  been  Frenchmen, 
and  not  English  churls.  As  we  came  down  along  the  dike,  a 
little  man  of  them  steps  between  the  two,  and  strikes  down  their 
swords  as  if  they  had  been  two  reeds.  '  Come  ! '  cries  he, 
'  enough  of  this.  You  are  two  prudhommes  well  matched,  and 
you  can  fight  out  this  an)'  other  day ' ;  and  away  he  and  his  men 
go  down  the  dike-end  to  the  water." 

"  Leaving  Richard  safe  ?  " 

"  Wounded  a  little,  —  but  safe  enough." 

"  And  then  ?  " 

"  We  followed  them  to  the  boat  as  hard  as  we  could  ;  killed 
one  with  a  javelin,  and  caught  another." 

"  Knightly  done  ! "  and  William  swore  an  awful  oath,  "  and 
worthy  of  valiant  Frenchmen.  These  English  set  you  the  ex- 
ample of  chivalry  by  letting  your  comrade  fight  his  own  battle 
fairly,  instead  of  setting  on  him  all  together  ;  and  you  repay  them 
by  hunting  them  down  with  darts,  because  you  dare  not  go  within 
sword's-stroke  of  better  men  than  yourselves.  Go.  I  am  ashamed 
of  you.  No,  stay.  Where  is  your  prisoner?  For,  Splendeur 
Dex !  I  will  send  him  back  safe  and  sound  in  return  for  Dade,  to 
tell  the  knights  of  Ely  that  if  they  know  so  well  the  courte- 
sies of  war,  William  of  Rouen  does  too." 

"  The  prisoner.  Sire,"  quoth  the  knight,  trembling,  "  is  — 
is—" 

"  You  have  not  murdered  him  ?  " 

"  Heaven  forbid  !  but  —  " 

"  He  broke  his  bonds  and  escaped  ?  " 

12*  B 


274      HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

"  Gnawed  them  through,  Sire,  as  we  suppose,  and  escaped 
through  the  mire  in  the  dark,  after  the  fashion  of  these  ac- 
cursed frogs  of  Girvians." 

"  But  did  he  tell  you  naught  ere  he  bade  you  good  morning  ?  " 

"  He  told  us  the  names  of  all  the  seven.  He  that  beat  down 
the  swords  was  Hereward  himself." 

"  I  thought  as  much.  When  shall  I  have  that  fellow  at  my 
side  ?  " 

"  He  that  fought  Richard  was  one  Wenoch." 

'  I  have  heard  of  him." 
*  '  He  that  we  slew  was  Si  ward,  a  monk." 

"  More  shame  to  you." 

"  He  that  we  took  was  Ayer  the  Hardy,  a  monk  of  Nicole  — 
Licole,"  —  the  Normans  could  never  say  Lincoln. 

"  And  the  rest  were  Thurstan  the  Younger ;  Leofric  the 
Deacon,  Hereward's  minstrel ;  and  Boter,  the  traitor  monk 
of  St.    Edmund's." 

"  And  if  I  catch  them,"  quoth  William,  "  I  will  make  an  abbot 
of  every  one  of  them." 

"  Sire  ?  "  quoth  the  chaplain,  in  a  deprecating  tone. 


CHAPTER  XXX 


HOW  HEREWARD  PLAYED  THE  POTTER  ;  AND  HOW  HE 
CHEATED  THE  KING. 

Thet  of  Ely  were  now  much  straitened,  being  shut  in  both  by 
land  and  water;  and  what  was  to  be  done,  either  by  themselves 
oriby  the  king,  they  knew  not.  Would  William  sim[ily  starve 
them  ;  or  at  least  inflict  on  them  so  perpetual  a  Lent,  —  for  of 
fish  there  could  be  no  lack,  even  if  they  ate  or  di'ove  away  all  the 
fowl,  —  as  would  tame  down  their  proud  spirits  ;  which  a  diet  of 
fish  and  vegetables,  from  some  ludicrous  theory  of  monastic  phy- 
sicians, was  supposed  to  do  ?  *  Or  was  he  gathering  vast  armies, 
from  they  knew  not  whence,  to  try,  once  and  for  all,  another 
assault  on  the  island, — it  might  be  from  several  points  at  once? 

They  must  send  out  a  spy,  and  find  out  news  from  the  outer 
world,  if  news  were  to  be  gotten.     But  who  would  go  ? 

So  asked  the  bishop,  and  the  abbot,  and  the  earls,  in  council  iu 
the  abbot's  lodging. 

Torfrida  was  among  them.  She  was  always  among  them  now. 
She  was  their  Alruna-wife,  their  Vala,  their  wise  woman,  whose 
counsels  all  received  as  more  than  human. 

"  I  will  go,"  said  she,  rising  up  like  a  goddess  on  Olympus. 
"  I  will  cut  oif  my  hair,  and  put  on  boy's  clothes,  and  smirch  my- 
self brown  with  walnut  leaves ;  and  I  will  go.  I  can  talk  their 
French  tongue.  I  know  their  French  ways ;  and  as  for  a  story 
to  cover  my  journey  and  my  doings,  trust  a  woman's  wit  to  invent 
that." 

They  looked  at  her,  with  delight  in  her  courage,  but  with 
doubt. 

"  If  William's  French  grooms  got  hold  of  you,  Torfrida,  it 
would  not  be  a  little  walnut  brown  which  would  hide  you,"  said 
Hereward.  "  It  is  like  you  to  offer,  —  worthy  of  you,  who  have 
no  peer." 

"  That  she  has  not,"  quoth  churchmen  and  soldiers  alike. 

"But  —  to  send  you  would  be  to  send  Ilereward's  wrong  half. 
The  right  half  of  Hereward  is  going ;  and  that  is,  himself." 

*  The  Cornish  —  the  stoutest,  tallest,  and  most  prolific  race  of  the  Soath  — 
live  ou  hardly  anything  else  but  fish  and  vegetables. 


276       HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

"  Uticle,  uncle ! "  said  the  young  earls,  "  fend  Winter,  Geri, 
Leofvvin  Prat,  any  of  your  fellows :  but  not  yourself.  If  we  lose 
you,  we  lose  our  head  and  our  king." 

And  all  prayed  Hereward  to  let  any  man  go,  rather  than  him- 
self. • 

"  I  am  going,  lords  and  knights  ;  and  what  Hereward  says  he 
does.  It  is  one  day  to  Brandon.  It  may  be  two  days  back ;  for 
if  I  miseariy,  —  as  I  most  likely  shall,  —  I  must  come  home 
round  about.  On  the  fourth  day,  you  shall  hear  of  me  or  from 
me.     Come  with  me,  Torfrida." 

And  he  strode  out. 

lie  cropped  his  golden  locks,  he  cropped  his  golden  beard  ; 
and  Torfrida  cried,  as  she  cropped  them,  half  with  fear  for  him, 
half  for  sorrow  over  his  shorn  glories.  ^ 

"  I  am  no  Samson,  my  lady  ;  my  strength  lieth  not  in  my  locks. 
Now  for  some  rascal's  clothes,  —  as  little  dirty  as  you  can  get  me, 
for  fear  of  company." 

And  Hereward  put  on  filthy  garments,  and  taking  mare  Swal- 
low with  him,  got  into  a  barge  and  went  across  the  river  to 
Soham. 

He  could  not  go  down  the  Great  Ouse,  and  up  the  Little  Ouse, 
which  was  his  easiest  way,  for  the  French  held  all  the  river 
below  the  isle  ;  and,  beside,  to  have  come  straight  from  Ely  might 
cause  suspicion.  So  he  went  down  to  Fordham,  and  crossed  the 
Lark  at  Mildenhall ;  and  just  before  he  got  to  Mildenhall,  he 
met  a  potter  carrying  pots  upon  a  pony. 

"  Halt,  my  stout  fellow,"  quoth  he,  "  and  put  thy  pots  on  my 
mare's  back." 

"  The  man  who  wants  them  must  fight  for  them,"  quoth  that 
stout  churl,  raising  a  heavy  staff. 

"  Then  hei-e  is  he  that  will,"  quoth  Hereward ;  and,  jumping 
off  his  mai-e,  he  twisted  the  staff  out  of  the  potter's  hands,  and 
knocked  him  down  therewith. 

"  That  will  teach  thee  to  know  an  Englishman  when  thou  seest 
him." 

"  I  have  met  my  master,"  quoth  the  churl,  rubbing  his  head. 
"  But  dog  does  not  eat  dog ;  and  it  is  hard  to  be  robbed  by  an 
Englishman,  after  being  robbed  a  dozen  times  by  the  French." 

"I  will  not  rob  thee.  There  is  a  silver  penny  for  thy  pots  and 
thy  coat,  —  for  that  I  must  have  likewise.  And  if  thou  tellest 
to  mortal  man  aught  about  this,  I  will  find  those  who  will  cut 
thee  to  ribbons ;  and  if  not,  then  turn  thy  horse's  head  and  ride 
back  to  Ely,  if  thou  canst  cross  the  water,  and  say  what  has 
befallen  thee ;  and  thou  wilt  find  there  an  abbot  who  will  give 
thee  another  penny  for  thy  news." 


HEREWARD,   THE   LAST   OF   THE   ENGLISH.  277 

So  Hereward  took  the  pots,  and  the  potter's  clay-greased  coat, 
and  went  on  through  Mildenhall,  "  crying,"  saith  the  chronicler, 
"  after  the  manner  of  potters,  in  the  English  tongue,  '  Pots  !  pots  ! 
good  pots  and  pans  I '  " 

But  when  he  got  through  Mildenhall,  and  well  into  the  rabbit- 
warrens,  he  gave  mare  Swallow  a  kick,  and  went  over  the  heath 
so  fast  northward,  that  his  pots  danced  such  a  dance  as  broke 
half  of  them  before  he  got  to  Brandon. 

"  Never  mind,"  quoth  lie,  "  they  will  think  that  I  have  sold 
them."  And  when  he  neared  Brandon  he  pulled  up,  sorted  his 
pots,  kept  the  whole  ones,  threw  the  sherds  at  the  rabbits,  and 
walked  on  into  Brandon  solemnly,  leading  the  mare,  and  crying 
"  Pots  !  " 

So  "  semper  marcida  et  deformis  aspectu  "  —  lean  and  ill- 
looking  —  wa-i  that  famous  mare,  says  the  chronicler,  that  no  one 
would  suspect  her  splendid  powers,  or  take  her  for  anything  but 
a  potter's  nag,  when  she  was  caparisoned  in  proper  character. 
Hereward  felt  thoroughly  at  home  in  his  part ;  as  able  to  play 
the  Engli-hman  wiiich  he  was  by  rearing,  as  the  Frenchman 
which  he  was  by  education.  He  was  full  of  heart,  and  happy. 
He  enjoyed  the  keen  fresh  air  of  the  warrens ;  he  enjoyed  the 
ramble  out  of  the  isle,  in  which  he  had  been  cooped  up  so  long ; 
he  enjoyed  the  fun  of  the  thing, — disguise,  stratagem,  adventure, 
danger.  And  so  did  the  English,  who  adored  him.  None  of 
Hereward's  deeds  is  told  so  carefully  and  lovingly ;  and  none, 
doubt  it  not,  was  so  often  sung  in  after  years  by  farm-house 
hearthsj  or  in  the  outlaws'  lodge,  a^^  this.  Robin  Hood  himself 
may  have  trolled  out  many  a  time,  in  doggrel  strain,  how  Here- 
ward played  the  potter. 

And  he  came  to  Brandon,  to  the  "  king's  court,"  —  probably 
"Weeting  Hall,  or  castle,  from  which  William  could  command  the 
streams  of  Wissey  and  Little  Ouse,  with  all  their  fens,  —  and 
cast  about  for  a  night's  lodging,  for  it  was  dark. 

Outside  the  town  was  a  wretched  cabin  of  mud  and  turf,  — 
such  a  one  as  Irish  folk  live  in  to  this  day  ;  and  Hereward  said 
to  himself,  "  This  is  bad  enough  to  be  good  enough  for  me." 

So  he  knocked  at  the  door,  and  knocked  till  it  was  opened,  and 
a  hideous  old  crone  put  out  her  head. 

"  Who  wants  to  see  me  at  this  time  of  night?  " 

"  Any  one  would,  who  had  heard  how  beautiful  you  are.  Do 
you  want  any  pots  ?  " 

''  Pots  !  What  have  I  to  do  with  pots,  thou  saucy  fellow  ?  I 
thought  it  was  some  one  wanting  a  charm."  And  she  shut  the 
door. 

"  A  charm  ?  "  thought  Hereward.     "  Maybe  she  can  tell  me 


273  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

news,  if  she  be  a  witch.  They  are  shrewd  souls,  these  witches, 
and  know  more  than  they  tell.  But  if  I  can  get  any  news,  I 
care  not  if  Satan  brings  it  in  person." 

So  he  knocked  aijain,  till  the  old  woman  looked  out  once  more, 
and  bade  him  angrily  be  off. 

"  But  I  am  belated  here,  good  dame,  and  afraid  of  the  French. 
And  I  will  give  thee  the  best  bit  of  clay  on  my  mare's  back,  — 
pot,  —  pan,  —  pausion,  —  crock,  — jug,  or  what  thou  wilt,  for  a 
night's  lodging." 

"  Have  you  any  little  jars,  —  jars  no  longer  than  my  hand  ?  " 
asked  she ;  for  she  used  them  in  her  trade,  and  had  broken  one 
of  late  :  but  to  pay  for  one,  she  had  neither  money  nor  mind. 
So  she  agreed  to  let  Hereward  sleep  there,  for  the  value  of  two 
jars.     "  But  what  of  that  ugly  brute  of  a  horse  of  thine  ?  " 

"  She  will  do  well  enough  in  the  turf-shed." 

"  Then  thou  must  pay  with  a  pannikin." 

"  Ugh !  "  groaned  Hereward ;  "  thou  drivest  a  hard  bargain, 
for  an  Englishwoman,  with  a  poor  Englishman." 

"  How  knowest  thou  that  I  am  English?  " 

"  So  much  the  better  if  thou  art  not,"  thought  Hereward ;  and 
bargained  with  her  for  a  pannikin  against  a  lodging  for  the  horse 
in  the  turf-house,  and  a  bottle  of  bad  hay. 

Then  he  went  in,  bringing  his  panniers  with  him  with  ostenta- 
tious care. 

"  Thou  canst  sleep  there  on  the  rushes.  I  have  naught  to  give 
thee  to  eat." 

"  Naught  needs  naught,"  said  Hereward  ;  threw  himself  down 
on  a  bundle  of  rush,  and  in  a  few  minutes  snored  loudly. 

But  he  was  never  less  asleep.  He  looked  round  the  whole 
cabin  ;  and  he  listened  to  every  word. 

The  Devil,  as  usual,  was  a  bad  paymaster ;  for  the  witch's  cabin 
seemed  only  somewhat  more  miserable  than  that  of  other  old 
women.  The  floor  was  mud,  the  rafters  unceiled ;  the  stars  shone 
through  the  turf  roof.  The  only  hint  of  her  trade  was  a  hanging 
shelf,  on  which  stood  five  or  six  little  earthen  jars,  and  a  few 
packets  of  leaves.  A  parchment,  scrawled  with  characters  which 
the  owner  herself  probably  did  not  understand,  hung  against  the 
cob  wall ;  and  a  human  skull  —  probably  used  only  to  frighten 
her  patients  —  dangled  from  the  roof-tree. 

But  in  a  corner,  stuck  against  the  wall,  was  something  which 
chilled  Hereward's  blood  a  little.  A  dried  human  hand,  which 
he  knew  must  have  been  stolen  off  the  gallows,  gripping  in  its 
fleshless  fingers  a  candle,  which  he  knew  was  made  of  human  fat. 
That  candle,  he  knew,  duly  lighted  and  carried,  would  enable  the 
witch  to  walk  unseen  into  any  house  on  earth,  yea,  through  the 


HEREWARD,   THE   LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH.  279 

court  of  King  William  himself,  while  it  drowned  all  men  in  pre- 
ternatural slumber. 

Hereward  was  very  much  frightened.  He  believed  as  devout- 
ly in  the  powers  of  a  witch  as  did  then  — and  does  now,  for  aught 
Italian  literature,  e  permissu  superiorum,  shows  —  the  Pope  of 
Rome. 

So  he  trembled  on  his  rushes,  and  wished  himself  safe  through 
that  adventure,  without  being  turned  into  a  hare  or  a  wolf. 

"  I  would  sooner  be  a  wolf  than  a.  hare,  of  course,  killing  being 
more  in  my  trade  than  being  killed  ;  but  —  who  comes  here  ?  " 

And  to  the  first  old  crone,  who  sat  winking  her  bleared  eyes, 
and  warming  her  bleared  hands  over  a  little  heap  of  peat  in  the 
middle  of  the  cabin,  entered  another  crone,  if  possible  uglier. 

"Two  of  them !  It  I  am  not  roasted  and  eaten  this  night.  I 
am  a  lutfky  man." 

And  llereward  crossed  himself  devoutly,  and  invoked  St. 
Ethelfriila  of  Ely,  St.  Guthlac  of  Crowland,  St.  F'elix  of  Ramsey, 
—  to  whom,  he  recollected,  he  had  been  somewhat  remiss  ;  but, 
above  all,  St.  Peter  of  Peterborough,  whose  treasures  he  had 
given  to  the  Danes.  And  he  argued  stoutly  with  St.  Peter  and 
with  his  own  conscience,  that  the  means  sanctify  the  end,  and 
that  he  had  done  it  all  for  the  best. 

"  If  thou  wilt  help  me  out  of  this  strait,  and  the  rest,  blessed 
Apostle,  I  will  give  thee  —  I  will  go  to  Constantinople  but  what 
I  will  win  it  —  a  golden  table  twice  as  fine  as  those  villains  car- 
ried off,  and  one  of  the  Bourne  manors  —  Withara  —  or  Toft  — 
or  Mainthorpe  —  whichever  pleases  thee  best,  in  full  fee ;  and 
a  —  and  a  —  " 

But  while  Hereward  was  casting  in  his  mind  what  gewgaw 
further  might  suffice  to  appease  the  Apostle,  he  was  recalled  to 
business  and  common-sense  by  hearing  the  two  old  hags  talk  to 
each  other  in  French. 

His  heart  leapt  for  joy,  and  he  forgot  St.  Peter  utterly. 

"  Well,  how  have  you  sped  ?     Have  you  seen  the  king  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  Ivo  Taillebois.  Eh !  Who  the  foul  fiend  have 
you  lying  there  ?  " 

"  Only  an  English  brute.  He  cannot  understand  us.  Talk 
on :    only  don't  wake  the  hog.     Have  you  got  the  gold  ? " 

"  Never  mind." 

Then  there  was  a  grumbling  and  a  quarrelling,  from  which 
Hereward  understood  that  the  gold  was  to  be  shared  between 
them. 

"  But  it  is  a  bit  of  chain.     To  cut  it  will  spoil  it." 

The  other  insisted;  and  he, heard  them  chop  the  gold  chain  in 
two. 


280  HEREWARD,   THE   LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH. 

"  And  is  this  all  ?  " 

"  I  hud  work  enougli  to  get  that.  He  said,  No  play  no 
pay ;  and  he  would  give  it  me  after  the  isle  was  taken.  But 
I  told  hira  my  spirit  was  a  Jewish  spirit,  that  used  to  serve 
Solomon  the  Wise ;  and  he  would  not  serve  me,  much  less  come 
over  the  sea  from  Normandy,  unless  he  smelt  gold ;  for  he  loved 
it  lik&  any  Jew." 

"  And  wliat  did  you  tell  him  then  ?" 

"  Tiiat  the  king  must  go  back  to  Aldreth  again;  for  only  from 
thence  he  would  take  the  isle;  for  —  and  that  was  true  enough 

—  I  dreamt  I  saw  all  the  water  of  Aldreth  full  of  wolves,  clam- 
bering over  into  tlie  island  on  each  other's  backs." 

"  That  means  that  some  of  them  will  be  drowned." 

"  Let  them  drown.  I  left  him  to  find  out  that  part  of  the 
dream  for  iiimself.  Then  I  told  him  how  he  must  make  another 
causeway,  bigger  and  stronger  than  the  last,  and  a  tower  on 
whicli  I  could  stand  and  curse  the  English.  And  I  promised 
him  to  bring  a  storm  right  in  the  faces  of  the  English,  so  that 
they  could  neither  fight  nor  see." 

"  But  if  the  storm  does  not  come  ?  " 

"  It  will  come.     1  know  the  signs  of  the  sky,  —  who  better? 

—  and  the  weather  will  break  up  in  a  week.  Therefore  I  told 
him  he  must  begin  his  works  at  once,  before  the  rain  came  on ; 
and  that  we  would  go  and  ask  the  spirit  of  the  well  to  tell  us 
the  fortunate  day  tor  attacking." 

"  Tliat  is  my  business,"  said  the  other;  "and  my  spirit  likes 
the  smell  of  g(jld  as  well  as  yours.  Little  you  would  have  got 
from  me,  if  you  had  not  given  me  half  the  chain." 

Then  the  two  rose. 

"  Let  us  see  whether  the  English  hog  is  asleep." 

One  of  them  came  and  listened  to  Hereward's  breathing,  and 
put  her  hand  upon  his  chest.  His  hair  stood  on  end ;  a  cold 
sweat  came  over  him.     But  he  snored  more  loudly  than  ever. 

The  two  old  crones  went  out  satisfied.  Then  Here  ward  rose, 
and  glided  after  them. 

Tiiey  went  down  a  meadow  to  a  little  well,  which  Hereward 
had  marked  as  he  rode  thither,  hung  round  with  bits  of  rag  and 
flowers,  as  similar  "  holy  wells  "  are  decorated  in  Ireland  to  this 
day. 

He  hid  behind  a  hedge,  and  watched  them  stooping  over  the 
well,  mumbling  he  knew  not  what  of  cantrips. 

Then  there  was  silence,  and  a  tinkling  sound  as  of  water. 

"Once  —  twice  —  thrice,"  counted  the  witches.  Nine  times  he 
counted  the  tinkling  sound. 

"  The  ninth  day, — the  ninth  day,  and  the  king  shall  take  Ely," 


HEREWARD,   THE   LAST   OF   THE   ENGLISH.  281 

said  one  in  a  cracked  scream,  rising,  and  shaking  her  fist  toward 
the  i^le. 

Here  ward  was  more  than  half- minded  to  Iiave  put  his  dagger 
—  the  only  weapon  which  he  had  —  into  the  two  old  beldames  on 
the  spot.  But  the  fear  of"  an  outcry  kept  him  still.  He  had 
found  out  already  so  much,  that  he  was  determined  to  find  out 
more.  So  to-morrow  he  would  go  up  to  the  court  itself,  and  take 
what  hick  sent. 

He  slipt  back  to  the  cabin  and  lay  down  again ;  and  ^s  soon  as 
he  had  seen  the  two  old  crones  safe  asleep,  fell  asleep  himself, 
and  was  so  tired  that  he  lay  till  the  sun  was  high. 

"  Get  up ! "  screamed  the  old  dame  at  last,  kicking  him,  "  or  I 
shall  make  you  give  me  another  crock  for  a  double  night's  rest." 

He  paid  his  lodging,  put  the  panniers  on  the  mare,  and  went 
on  crying  pots. 

When  he  came  to  the  outer  gateway  of  the  court  he  tied  up 
the  mare,  and  carried  the  crockery  in  on  his  own  back  boldly. 
The  scullions  saw  him,  and  called  him  into  the  kitchen  to  see  his 
crockery,  without  the  least  intention  of  paying  for  what  they 
took. 

A  man  of  rank  belonging  to  the  court  came  in,  and  stared  fix- 
edly at  Hereward. 

"  You  are  mightily  like  that  villain  Hereward,  man,"  quoth  he. 

"  Anon  ?  "  asked  Hereward,  looking  as  stupid  as  he  could. 

"  If  it  were  not  for  his  brown  face  and  short  hair,  he  is  as  like 
the  fellow  as  a  churl  can  be  to  a  knight." 

"  Bring  him  into  the  hall,"  quoth  another,  "  and  let  us  see  if 
any  man  knows  him." 

Into  the  great  hall  he  was  brought,  and  stared  at  by  knighls 
and  squires.  He  bent  his  knees,  rounded  his  shoulders,  and 
made  himself  look  as  mean  as  he  could. 

Ivo  Taillebois  and  Earl  Warrenne  came  down  and  had  a  look 
at  him. 

"  Hereward !  "  said  Ivo.  "  I  will  warrant  that  little  slouching 
cur  is  not  he.  Hereward  must  be  half  as  big  again,  if  it  be  true 
that  he  can  kill  a  man  with  one  blow  of  his  fist." 

"  You  may  try  the  truth  of  that  for  yourself  some  day,"  thought 
Hereward. 

"  Does  any  one  here  talk  English  ?  Let  us  question  the  fellow," 
said  Earl  Warrenne. 

"  Hereward  ?  Hereward  ?  Who  wants  to  know  about  that 
villain  ? "  answered  the  potter,  as  soon  as  he  was  asked  in  Eng- 
lish. "  Would  to  Heaven  he  were  here,  and  I  could  see  some  of 
you  noble  knights  and  earls  paying  him  for  me  ;  for  I  owe  liim 
more  than  ever  I  shall  pay  myself." 


282  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

"  What  does  he  mean  ?  " 

"  He  came  out  of  the  isle  ten  days  ago,  nigh  on  to  evening, 
and  drove  off  a  cow  of  mine  and  four  sheep,  which  was  all  mj 
living,  noble  knights,  save  these  pots." 

"  And  where  is  he  since  ?  " 

"  In  the  isle,  my  lords,  wellnigh  starved,  and  his  folk  falling 
away  from  him  daily  from  hunger  and  ague-fits.  I  doubt  if  there 
be  a  hundred  sound  men  left  in  Ely." 

"  Have  you  been  in  thither,  then,  villain?" 

"  Heaven  forbid  !  I  in  Ely  ?  I  in  the  wolf's  den  ?  If  I  went 
in  with  naught  but  my  skin,  they  would  have  it  off  me  before  I 
got  out  again.  If  your  lordships  would  but  come  down,  and 
make  an  end  of  him  once  for  all ;  for  he  is  a  great  tyrant  and 
terrible,  and  devours  us  poor  folk  like  so  many  mites  in  cheese." 

"  Take  this  babbler  into  the  kitchen,  and  feed  him,"  quoth  Earl 
Warrenne ;  and  so  the  colloquy  ended. 

Into  the  kitchen  again  the  potter  went.  The  king's  luncheon 
was  px'eparing  ;  and  he  listened  to  their  chatter,  and  picked  up 
this  at  least,  which  was  valuable  to  him,  —  that  the  witches'  story 
was  true  ;  that  a  great  attack  would  be  made  from  Aldreth  ;  that 
boats  had  been  ordered  up  the  river  to  Cotinglade,  and  pioneers 
and  entrenching  tools  were  to  be  sent  on  that  day  to  the  site  of 
the  old  causeway. 

But  soon  he  had  to  take  care  of  himself.  Earl  Warrenne's 
commands  to  feed  him  were  construed  by  the  cook-boys  and  scul- 
lions into  a  command  to  make  him  drunk  likewise.  To  make  a 
laughing-stock  of  an  Englishman  was  too  tempting  a  jest  to  be 
resisted ;  and  Hereward  was  drenched  (says  the  chronicler)  with 
wine  and  beer,  and  sorely  baited  and  badgered.  At  last  one 
rascal  hit  upon  a  notable  plan. 

"  Pluck  out  the  English  hog's  hair  and  beard,  and  put  him 
blindfold  in  the  midst  of  his  pots,  and  see  what  a  smash  we  shall 
have." 

Hereward  pretended  not  to  understand  the  words,  which  were 
spoken  in  French ;  but  when  they  were  interpreted  to  him,  he 
grew  somewhat  red  about  the  ears. 

Submit  he  would  not.  But  if  he  defended  himself,  and  made 
an  uproar  in  the  king's  Court,  he  might  very  likely  find  him-clf 
riding  Odin's  horse  before  the  hour  was  out.  However,  happily 
for  him,  the  wine  and  beer  had  made  him  stout  of  heart,  and 
when  one  fellow  laid  hold  of  his  beard,  he  resisted  sturdily. 

The  man  struck  him,  and  that  hard.  Hereward,  hot  of  tem- 
per, and  careless  of  life,  struck  him  again,  right  under  the  ear. 

The  fellow  dropped  for  dead. 

Up  leapt  cook-boys,  scullions,  "  lecheurs  "  (who  hung   about 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  283 

the  kitchen  to  "lecher,"  lick  the  platters),  and  all  the  foul- 
mouthed  rascality  of  a  great  mediaeval  household  ;  and  attacked 
Hereward  "cum  furcis  et  tridentibus,"  with  forks  and  flesh- 
hooks. 

Then  was  Hereward  aware  of  a  great  broach,  or  spit,  before 
the  (ire ;  and  recollecting  how  he  had  used  such  a  one  as  a  boy 
against  the  monks  of  Peterborough,  was  minded  to  use  it  against 
the  cooks  of  Brandon ;  which  he  did  so  heartily,  that  in  a  fevv 
moments  he  had  killed  one,  and  driven  tiie  others  backward 
in  a  heap. 

But  his  case  was  hopeless.  He  was  soon  overpowered  by 
numbers  from  outside,  and  dragged  into  the  hall,  to  receive 
judgment  for  the  mortal  crime  of  slaying  a  man  within  the 
precincts  of  the  Court. 

He  kept  up  heart.  He  knew  that  the  king  was  there  ;  he 
knew  that  he  should  most  likely  get  justice  from  the  king.  If 
not,  he  could  but  discover  himself,  and  so  save  his  life :  for  that 
the  king  would  kill  him  knowingly,  he  did  not  believe. 

So  he  went  in  boldly  and  willingly,  and  up  the  hall,  where,  on 
the  dais,  stood  William  the  Norman. 

William  had  finished  his  luncheon,  and  was  standing  at  the 
board  side.  A  page  held  water  in  a  silver  basin,  in  which  he 
was  washing  his  hands.  Two  more  knelt,  and  laced  his  long 
boots,  for  he  was,  as  always,  going  a-hunting. 

Then  Hereward  looked  at  the  face  of  the  great  man,  and  felt 
at  once  that  it  was  the  face  of  the  greatest  man  whom  he  had 
ever  met. 

"  I  am  not  that  man's  match,"  said  he  to  himself.  "  Perhaps 
it  will  all  end  in  being  his  man,  and  he  my  master." 

"  Silence,  knaves  ! "  said  William,  "  and  speak  one  of  you  at  a 
time.     How  came  this  ?  " 

"A  likely  story,  forsooth!"  said  he,  when  he  had  heard.  "A 
poor  English  potter  comes  into  my  court,  and  murders  ray  men 
under  my  very  eyes  for  mere  sport,  I  do  not  believe  you, 
rascals !  You,  churl,"  and  he  spoke  through  an  English  in- 
terpreter, "  tell  me  your  tale,  and  justice  you  shall  have  or  take, 
as  you  deserve.  I  am  the  King  of  England,  man,  and  I  know 
your  tongue,  though  I  speak  it  not  yet,  more  pity." 

Hereward  fell  on  his  knees. 

"  If  you  are  indeed  my  Lord  the  King,  then  I  am  safe ;  for 
there  is  justice  in  you,  at  least  so  all  men  say."  And  he  told 
his  tale,  manfully. 

"  Splendeur  Dex !  but  this  is  a  far  likehrr  story,  and  I  believe 
it.  Hark  you,  you  ruffians !  Here  am  I,  trying  to  conciliate 
these  English  by  justice  and  mercy,  whenever  they  will  let  me, 


284  HEREWARD,   THE  LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH. 

and  here  are  you  outraging  them,  and  driving  them  mad  and  des- 
perate, just  that  you  may  get  a  handle  against  them,  and  thus  rob 
the  poor  wretche?  and  drive  them  into  the  forest.  From  the  low- 
est to  the  highe.-t,  —  from  Ivo  Taillebois  there  down  to  you  cook- 
boys,  —  you  are  all  at  the  same  game.  And  I  will  stop  it !  The 
next  time  I  hear  of  outrage  to  unarmed  man  or  harmless  woman, 
I  will  hang  that  culprit,  were  he  Odo  my  brother  himself." 

This  excellent  sjieeeh  was  enforced  with  oaths  so  strange  and 
terrible,  that  Ivo  Taillebois  shook  in  his  boots  ;  and  the  chaplain 
prayed  fervently  that  the  roof  might  not  fall  in  on  their  heads. 

"Thou  smilest,  man ? "  said  William,  quickly,  to  the  kneeHng 
Hereward.     "So  thou  understande.-t  French?" 

"  A  few  words  only,  most  gracious  King,  which  we  potters  pick 
up,  wandering  everywhere  with  our  wares,"  said  Hereward,  speak- 
ing in  French  ;  for  so  keen  was  William's  eye,  that  he  thought  it 
safer  to  play  no  tricks  with  him. 

Nevertheless,  he  made  his  French  so  execrable,  that  the  very 
scullions  grinned,  in  spite  of  their  fear. 

"  Look  you,"  said  William,  "  you  are  no  common  churl ;  you 
have  fought  too  well  for  that.     Let  me  see  your  arm." 

Hereward  drew  up  his  sleeve. 

"  Potiers  do  not  carry  sword-.-^cars  like  those  ;  neither  are  they 
tattooed  like  English  thanes.  Hold  up  thy  head,  man,  and  let  us 
see  thy  throat." 

Herewai'd,  who  had  carefully  hung  down  his  head  to  prevent 
his  throat-patterns  being  seen,  was  forced  to  lift  it  up. 

"  Aha !  So  I  expected.  More  fair  ladies'  work  there.  Is  not 
this  he  who  was  said  to  be  so  like  Hereward  ?  Very  good.  Put 
liim  in  ward  till  I  come  back  from  hunting.  But  do  him  no 
harm.  For "  —  and  William  fixed  on  Hereward  eyes  of  the 
most  intense  intelligence  —  "  were  he  Hereward  himself,  I  should 
be  right  glad  to  see  Hereward  safe  and  sound  ;  my  man  at  last, 
and  earl  of  all  between  Humber  and  the  Fens." 

But  Hereward  did  not  rise  at  the  bait.  With  a  face  of  stupid 
and  ludicrous  terror,  he  made  reply  in  broken  French. 

"  Have  mercy,  mercy,  Lord  King  !  Make  not  that  fiend  earl 
over  us.  Even  Ivo  Taillebois  there  would  be  better  than  he. 
Send  him  to  be  earl  over  the  imps  in  hell,  or  over  the  wild  Welsh 
who  are  worse  still :  but  not  over  us,  good  Lord  King,  whom  he 
hath  polled  and  peeled  till  we  are  —  " 

"  Silence ! "  said  William,  laughing,  as  did  all  round  him. 
,"  Thou  art  a  cunning  rogue  enough,  whoever  thou  art.  Go  into 
limbo,  and  behave  thyself  till  I  come  back." 

"  All  saints  send  your  grace  good  sport,  and  thereby  me  a  good 
deliverance,"  quoth  Hei'eward,  who  knew  that  his  fate  might  de- 


-     HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH.  285 

pend  on  the  temper  in  which  AVilliara  returned.  So  he  was 
thrust  into  an  outhou.^e,  and  there  locked  up. 

He  sat  on  an  empty  barrel,  meditating  on  the  chances  of  his 
submitting  to  the  king  after  all,  when  the  door  opened,  and  in 
strode  one  with  a  drawn  sword  in  one  hand,  and  a  pair  of  leg- 
shackles  in  the  other. 

"  Hold  out  thy  shins,  fellow  !  Thou  art  not  going  to  sit  at 
thine  ease  there  like  an  abbot,  after  killing  one  of  us  grooms, 
and  bringing  the  rest  of  us  into  disgrace.  Hold  out  thy  legs, 
I  say ! " 

"  Nothing  easier,"  quoth  Hereward,  cheerfully,  and  held  out  a 
leg.  But  when  the  man  stooped  to  put  on  the  fetters,  he  received 
a  kick  which  sent  him  staggering. 

After  which  he  recollected  very  little,  at  least  in  this  world. 
For  Hereward  cut  off  his  head  with  his  own  sword. 

After  which  (says  the  chronicler)  he  broke  away  out  of  the 
house,  and  over  garden  walls  and  palings,  hiding  and  running, 
till  he  got  to  the  front  giite,  and  leaped  upon  mare  Swallow. 

And  none  saw  him,  save  one  unlucky  groom-boy,  who  stood 
yelling  and  cursing  in  front  of  the  mare's  head,  and  went  to  seize 
the  bridle. 

Whereon,  between  the  imminent  danger  and  the  bad  language, 
Hereward's  blood  rose,  and  he  smote  that  unlucky  groom-boy ; 
but  whether  he  slew  him  or  not,  the  chronicler  had  rather  not 
say. 

Then  he  shook  up  mare  Swallow,  and  rode  for  his  life,  with 
knights  and  squires  (for  the  hue  and  cry  was  raised)  galloping  at 
her  h(^els. 

Who  then  were  astonished  but  those  knights,  as  they  saw  the 
ugly  potter's  garron  gaining  on  them  length  after  length,  till  she 
and  her  rider  had  left  them  far  behind  ? 

Who  then  was  proud  but  Hereward,  as  the  mare  tucked  her 
great  thighs  under  her,  and  swept  on  over  heath  and  rabbit  bur- 
row, over  rush  and  fen,  sound  ground  and  rotten  all  alike  to 
that  enormous  stride,  to  that  keen  bright  eye  which  foresaw  every 
footfall,  to  that  raking  shoulder  which  picked  her  up  again  at 
every  stagger? 

Hereward  laid  the  bridle  on  her  neck,  and  let  her  go.  Fall 
she  could  not,  and  tire  she  could  not ;  and  he  half  wished  she 
might  go  on  forever.  Where  could  a  man  be  better  than  on  a 
good  horse,  with  all  the  cares  of  this  life  blown  away  out  of  his 
brains  by  the  keen  air  which  rushed  around  his  tem[)les  ?  Ani 
he  galloped  on,  as  cheery  as  a  boy,  shouting  at  the  rabbits  as 
they  scuttled  from  under  his  feet,  and  laughing  at  the  dottrel  as 
they  postured  and  an  ticked  on  the  mole-hills.  • 


2^6  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  " 

But  think  he  must,  at  last,  of  how  to  get  home.  For  to  go 
through  Mildenhall  again  would  not  be  safe,  and  he  turned  over 
the  moors  to  Icklingham ;  and  where  he  went  after,  no  man  can 
tell. 

Certainly  not  the  chronicler ;  for  he  tells  how  Hereward  got 
back  by  the  Isle  of  Somersham.  Which  is  all  but  impossible,  for 
Somersliam  is  in  Huntingdonsliire,  many  a  mile  on  the  opposite 
side  of  Ely  Isle. 

And  of  all  those  knights  that  followed  him,  none  ever  saw  or 
heard  sign  of  him  save  one,  and  his  horse  came  to  a  standstill  in 
"  the  aforesaid  wood,"  which  the  chronicler  says  was  Somersham ; 
and  he  rolled  off  his  horse,  and  lay  breathless  under  a  tree,  look- 
ing up  at  his  horse's  heaving  flanks  and  wagging  tail,  and  won- 
dering how  he  should  get  out  of  that  place  before  the  English 
found  him  and  made  an  end  of  him. 

Then  there  came  up  to,  him  a  ragged  churl,  and  asked  him 
who  he  was,  and  offered  to  help  him. 

"For  the  sakt;  of  God  and  courtesy,"  quoth  he,  —  his  Norman 
pride  being  wellnigh  beat  out  of  him,  —  "  if  thou  hast  seen  or 
heard  anytiiing  of  Hereward,  good  fellow,  tell  me,  and  I  will 
repay  thee  well." 

"  As  thou  hast  asked  me  for  the  sake  of  God  and  of  courtesy, 
Sir  Knight,  I  will  tell  thee.  I  am  Hereward.  And  in  token 
thereof,  tliou  shalt  give  me  up  thy  lance  and  sword,  and  take 
instead  this  sword  which  I  carried  off  from  the  king's  court ;  and 
promise  me,  on  the  faith  of  a  knight,  to  bear  it  back  to  King 
William  ;  and  tell  him  that  Hereward  and  he  have  met  at  last, 
and  that  he  had  best  beware  of  the  day  when  they  shall  meet 
again." 

So  that  knight,  not  having  recovered  his  wind,  was  fain  to 
submit,  and  go  home  a  sadder  and  a  wiser  man.  And  King 
William  laughed  a  royal  laugh,  and  commanded  his  knights  that 
they  should  in  no  wise  harm  Hereward,  but  take  him  alive,  and 
bring  him  in,  and  they  should  have  great  rewards. 

Which  seemed  to  them  more  easily  said  than  done. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 


HOW  THEY  FOUGHT  AGAIN  AT  ALDRETH. 

Hereward  came  back  in  fear  and  trembling,  after  all.  He 
believed  in  the  magic  powers  of  the  witch  of  Brandon  ;  and  he 
asked  Torfrida,  in  his  simplicity,  whether  she  was  not  cunning 
enough  to  defeat  her  spells  by  counter  spells. 

Torfrida  smiled,  and  shook  her  head. 

"  My  knight,  I  have  long  since  given  up  such  vanities.  Let 
us  not  fight  evil  with  evil,  but  rather  with  good.  Better  are 
prayers  than  charms;  for  the, former  are  heard  in  heaven  above, 
and  the  latter  only  in  the  pit  below.  Let  me  and  all  the  women 
of  Ely  go  rather  in  procession  to  St.  Etheldreda's  well,  there 
above  the  fort  at  Aldreth,  and  pray  St.  Etheldreda  to  be  with  us 
when  the  day  shall  come,  and  defend  her  own  isle  and  the  honor 
of  us  women  who  have  taken  refuge  in  her  holy  arms." 

So  all  the  women  of  Ely  walked  out  barefoot  to  St.  Etheldreda's 
well,  with  Torfrida  at  their  head  clothed  in  sackcloth,  and  with  fet- 
ters on  her  wrists  and  waist  and  ankles  ;  which  she  vowed,  after  the 
strange,  sudden,  earnest  fashion  of  those  times,  never  to  take  off 
again  till  she  saw  the  French  host  flee  from  Aldreth  before  the 
face  of  St.  Etheldreda.  So  they  prayed,  while  Hereward  and 
his  men  worked  at  the  forts  below.  And  when  they  came  back, 
and  Torfrida  was  washing  her  feet,  sore  and  bleeding  from  her 
pilgrimage,  Hereward  came  in. 

"  You  have  murdered  your  poor  soft  feet,  and  taken  nothing 
thereby,  I  fear." 

"  I  have.  If  I  had  walked  on  sharp  razors  all  the  way,  I 
would  have  done  it  gladly,  to  know  what  I  know  now.  As  I 
prayed  I  looked  out  over  the  fen  ;  and  St.  Etheldreda  put  a 
thought  into  my  heart.  But  it  is  so  terrible  a  one,  that  I  fear  to 
tell  It  to  you.    And  yet  it  seems  our  only  chance." 

Hereward  threw  himself  at  her  feet,  and  prayed  her  to  tell. 
At  last  she  spoke,  as  one  half  afraid  of  her  own  words,  — 

"  Will  the  reeds  burn,  Hereward  ?  " 

Hereward  kissed  her  feet  again  and  again,  calling  her  his 
prophetess,  his  savior. 

"  Burn !  yes,  like  tinder,  in  this  March  wind,  if  the  drought 
only  holds.     Pray  that  the  drought  may  hold,  Torfrida." 


288  HEREWARD,   THE  LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH. 

"  There,  there,  say  no  more.  How  hard-hearted  war  makes 
even  us  women !  There,  help  rae  to  take  off  this  rough  sack- 
cloth, and  dresjs  myself  again." 

Meanwhile  William  had  moved  his  army  again  to  Cambridge, 
and  on  to  Willinghain-field,  and  there  he  began  to  throw  up  tliose 
"  globos  and  montanas,"  of  which  Leofric's  paraphraser  talks,  but 
of  which  now  no  trace  remains.  Then  he  began  to  rebuild  his 
causeway,  broader  and  stronger  ;  and  commanded  all  the  lisher- 
men  of  the  Ouse  to  bi'ing  their  boats  to  Cotinglade,  and  fei-ry 
over  his  materials.  "Among  whom  came  Hereward  in  his  boat, 
with  head  and  beard  shaven  lest  he  should  be'  known,  and  worked 
diligently  among  the  rest.  But  the  sun  did  not  set  that  day  with- 
out mischief;  for  before  Hereward  went  off,  he  finished  his  work 
by  setting  the  whole  on  fire,  so  that  it  was  all  burnt,  and  some  of 
the  French  killed  and  drowned." 

And  so  he  went  on,  with  stratagems  and  ambushes,  till  "  after 
seven  days'  continual  fighting,  they  had  hardly  done  one  day's 
Avork  ;  save  four  '  globos '  of  wood,  in  which  they  intended  to  put 
their  ai-tillery.  But  on  the  eighth  day  they  determined  to  attack 
the^isle,  putting  in  the  midst  of  them  that  pythoness  woman  on  a 
high  place,  where  she  might  be  safe  freely  to  exercise  her  art." 

It  was  not  Hereward  alone  who  had  entreated  Torfrida  to  ex- 

.  ercise  her  magic  art  in  their  behalf.     But  she  steadily  refused, 

and  made  good  Abbot  Thurstan  support  her  refusal  by  a  strict 

declaration,  that  he  would  have  no  fiends'  games  played  in  Ely, 

as  long  as  he  was  abbot  alive  on  land. 

Torfrida, meanwhile,  grew  utteily  wild.  Her  conscience  smote 
her,  in  spite  of  her  belief  that  St.  Etheldreda  had  inspired  her, 
at  the  terrible  resource  which  she  had  hinted  to  her  husband,  and 
which  she  knew  well  he  would  carry  out  with  terrible  success. 
Pictures  of  agony  and  death  floated  before  her  eyes,  and  kept  her 
awake  at  night.  She  watched  long  hours  in  the  church  in  prayer; 
she  fasted ;  she  disciplined  her  tender  body  with  sharp  pains  ; 
she  tried,  after  the  fashion  of  those  times,  to  atone  for  her  sin,  if 
sin  it  was.  At  last  she  had  worked  herself  up  into  a  religious 
frenzy.  She  saw  St.  Etheldreda  in  the  clouds,  towering  over  the 
isle,  menacing  the  French  host  with  her  virgin  palm-branch.  She 
uttered  wild  prophecies  of  ruin  and  defeat  to  the  French  ;  and 
then,  when  her  frenzy  collapsed,  moaned  secretly  of  ruin  and 
defeat  hereafter  to  themselves.  But  she  would  be  bold;  she  would 
play  her  part ;  she  would  encourage  the  heroes  who  looked  to 
her  as  one  inspired,  wiser  and  loftier  than  themselves.  , 

And  so  it  befell,  that  when  the  men  marched  down  to  Hadden- 
ham  that  afternoon,  Torfrida  rode  at  their  head  on  a  white  charger, 
robed  from  throat  to  ankle  in  sackcloth,  her  fetters  clanking  on 


HEREWARD,   THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH.  289 

her  limbs.  But  she  called  on  the  English  to  see  in  her  the  em- 
blem of  England,  captive  yet,  unconquered,  and  to  break  her  fet- 
ters and  the  worse  letters  of  every  woman  in  England  who  was 
tlie  toy  and  slave  of  the  brutal  invaders ;  and  so  fierce  a  triumpli 
sparkled  from  her  wild  hawk-eyes  that  the  Englishmen  looked  up 
to  her  weird  beaury  as  to  that  of  an  inspu-ed  saint ;  and  when  the 
Normans  came  on  to  the  assault  there  stood  on  a  grassy  mound 
behind  the  English  fort  a  figure  clothed  in  sackcloth,  barefooted 
and  bareheaded,  with  fetters  shining  on  waist,  and  wrist,  and 
ankle,  —  her  long  black  locks  sti'eaming  in  the  wind,  her  long 
white  arms  stretched  crosswise  toward  heaven,  in  imitation  of 
Moses  of  old  above  the  battle  with  Amalek  ;  invoking  St.  Ethel- 
dreda  and  all  the  powers  of  Heaven,  and  chanting  doom  and 
defiance  to  the  invaders. 

And  the  English  looked  on  her,  and  cried :  "  She  is  a  prophet- 
ess !  We  will  surely  do  some  great  deed  this  day,  or  die  around 
her  feet  like  heroes  !  " 

And  opposite  to  her,  upon  the  Norman  tower,  the  old  hag  of 
Brandon  howled  and  gibbered  with  filthy  gestures,  calling  for  the 
thunder-storm  which  did  not  come ;  for  all  above,  the  sky  was 
cloudless  blue. 

And  the  English  saw  and  felt,  though  they  could  not  speak  it, 
dumb  nation,  as  they  were,  the  contrast  between  the  spirit  of 
cruelty  and  darkness  and  the  spirit  of  freedom  and  light. 

So  strong  was  the  new  bridge,  that  William  trusted  himself  upon 
it  on  horseback,  with  Ivo  Taillebois  at  his  side. 

William  doubted  the  powers  of  the  witch,  and  felt  ratlier 
ashamed  of  his  new  helpmate  ;  but  he  was  confident  in  his  bridge, 
and  in  tlie  heavy  artillery  which  he  had  placed  in  his  four  towers. 

Ivo  Taillebois  was  utterly  confident  in  his  witch,  and  in  the 
bridge  likewise. 

William  waited  for  the  rising  of  the  tide ;  and  when  the  tide 
was  near  its  height,  he  commanded  the  artillery  to  open,  and  clear 
the  fort  opposite  of  the  English.  Tiien  with  crash  and  twang, 
the  balistas  and  catapults  went  off,  and  great  stones  and  heavy 
Lmces  hurtled  through  the  air. 

"  Back !  "  shouted  Torfrida,  raised  almost  to  madne>s,  by  fast- 
ing, self-torture,  and  religious  frenzy.  "  Out  of  yon  fort,  every 
man.  Wiiy  waste  your  lives  under  that  artillery?  Stand  still 
this  day,  and  see  how  the  saints  of  Heaven  shall  fight  for  you." 

So  utter  was  the  reverence  which  she  commanded  for  the 
moment,  that  every  man  drew  back,  and  crowded  round  her 
i'eet  outside  the  fort. 

"The  cowards  are  fleeing  already.  Let  your  men  go,  Sir 
King  !  "  shouted  Taillebois. 

13  8 


290  HEREWAED,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

"  On  to  the  assault !    Strike  for  Normandy !  "  shouted  William 

"  I  fear  much,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  that  this  is  some  stratagem 
of  that  Hereward's.     But  conquered  they  must  be." 

The  evening  breeze  curled  up  the  reach.  The  great  pike 
splashed  out  from  the  weedy  shores,  and  sent  the  white-fish 
flying  in  shoals  into  the  low  glare  of  the  setting  sun :  and  heeded 
not,  stupid  things,  the  barges  [(acked  with  mailed  men,  which 
swarmed  in  the  reeds  on  either  side  the  bridge,  and  began 
to  push  out  into  the  river. 

The  starlings  swung  in  thousands  round  the  reed-ronds,  look- 
ing to  settle  in  their  wonted  place :  but  dare  not ;  and  rose  and 
swung  round  again,  telling  each  other,  in  their  manifold  pipings, 
how  all  the  reed-ronds  teemed  with  mailed  men.  And  all  above, 
the  sky  was  cloudless  blue. 

And  then  came  a  trample,  a  roll  of  many  feet  on  the  soft 
spongy  peat,  a  low  murmur  which  rose  into  wild  shouts  of"  Dex 
Aie  !  "  as  a  human  tide  poured  along  the  causeway,  and  past  the 
witch  of  Brandon  Heath. 

"  '  Dex  Aie  ?  '  "  quoth  "William,  with  a  sneer.  "  '  Debbles 
Aie ! '   would  fit  better." 

"  If,  Sire,  the  powers  above  would  have  helped  us,  we  should 
have  been  happy  enough  to  —  But  if  they  would  not,  it  is  not 
our  fault  if  we   try  beluw,"  said  Ivo  Taillebois. 

William  laughed.  "  It  is  well  to  have  two  strings  to  one's 
bow,  sir.  Forward,  men  !  forward ! "  shouted  he,  riding  out  to 
the  bridge-end,  under  the  tower. 

"  Forward  !  "  shouted  Ivo  Taillebois. 

"  Forward  !  "  shouted  the  hideous  hag  overhead.  "  The  spirit 
of  the  well  fights  for  you." 

"  Figlit  for  yourselves,"  said  William. 

There  was  twenty  yards  of  deep  clear  water  between  French- 
man and  Englishman.  Only  twenty  yards.  Not  only  the  arrows 
and  arblast  quarrels,  but  heavy  hand-javelins,  flew  across  every 
moment ;  every  now  and  then  a  man  toppled  forward,  and 
plunged  into  the  blue  depth  among  the  eels  and  pike,  to  find 
his  comrades  of  the  summer  before ;  then  the  stream  was  still 
once  more.  The  coots  and  water-hens  swam  in  and  out  of  the 
reeds,  and  wondered  what  it  was  all  about.  The  water-lilies 
flapped  upon  the  ripple,  as  lonely  as  in  the  loneliest  mere.  But 
their  floats  were  soon  broken,  their  white  cups  stained  with 
human  gore. 

Twenty  yards  of  deep  clear  water.  And  treasure  inestimable 
to  win  by  crossing  it. 

They  tlirust  out  baulks,  canoes,  pontoons  ;  they  crawled  upon 
them  like  ants,  and  thrust  out  more  yet  beyond,  heedless  of  their 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH.  291 

comrades,  who  slipped,  and  splashed,  and  sank,  holding  out  vain 
hands  to  hands  too  busy  to  seize  them.  And  always  the  old 
witch  jabbered  overhead,  with  her  cantrips,  pointing,  mumming, 
praying  for  the  storm ;  while  all  above,  the  sky  was  cloudless 
blue.  And  always  on  the  mound  opposite,  while  darts  and 
quarrels  whistled  round  her  head,  stood  Torf'rida,  pointing  with 
outstretched  scornful  finger  at  the  strugglers  in  the  river,  and 
chanting  loudly,  what  the  Frenchmen  could  not  tell  ;  but  it 
made  their  hearts,  as  it  was  meant  to  do,  melt  like  wax  within 
tiiem. 

"  They  have  a  counter  witch  to  yours,  Ivo,  it  seems ;  and  a 
fairer  one.  I  am  afraid  the  devils,  especially  if  Asmodeus  be 
at  hand,  are  more  likely  to  listen  to  her  than  to  that  old  broom- 
stick-rider aloft." 

"  Fair  is,  that  fair  cause  has,  Sir  King." 

"  A  good  argument  for  honest  men,  but  none  for  fiends.  What 
is  the  fair  fiend  pointing  at  so  earnestly  there  ?  " 

'•  Somewhat  among  the  reeds.  Hark  to  her  now !  She  is 
singing,  somewhat  more  like  an  angel  than  a  fiend,  I  will  say 
for  her." 

And  Torfrida's  bold  song,  coming  clear  and  sweet  across  the 
water,  rose  louder  and  shriller  till  it  almost  drowned  the  jab- 
bering of  the  witch. 

"  She  sees   more  there   than   we  do." 

"  I  see  it ! "  cried  William,  smiting  his  hand  upon  his 
thigh.  "  Par  le  splendeur  Dex !  She  has  been  showing  them 
where  to  fire  the  reeds ;  and  they  have  done  it ! " 

A  puff  of  smoke ;  a  wisp  of  flame ;  and  then  another  and 
another ;  and  a  canoe  shot  out  from  tlie  reeds  on  the  French 
shore,  and  glided  into  the  reeds  of  the  island. 

"  The  reeds  are  on  fire,  men  !     Have  a  care,"  shouted  Ivo. 

"  Silence,  fool !  Frighten  them  once,  and  they  will  leap  like 
sheep  into  that  gulf.  Men  !  right  about !  Draw  otF,  —  slowly 
and   in   order.     We  will  attack    again   to-morrow." 

The  cool  voice  of  the  great  captain  arose  too  late.  A  line 
of  flame  was  leaping  above  the  reed  bed,  crackling  and  howl- 
ing before  the  evening  breeze.  The  column  on  the  causeway 
had  seen  their  danger  but  too  soon,  and  fled.     But  whither  ? 

A  sliower  of  arrows,  quarrels,  javelins,  fell  upon  the  head  of 
the  column  as  it  tried  to  tiice  about  and  retreat,  confusing  it  more 
and  more.  One  arrow,  shot  by  no  common  aim,  went  clean 
through  William's  shield,  and  pinned  it  to  the  mailed  fiesb. 
He  could  not  stifle  a  cry  of  pain. 

"  You  are  wounded.  Sire.  Ride  for  your  life  !  It  is  worth 
that  of  a  thousand  of  these  churls,"  and   Ivo  seized   William's 


292  HEREWAKD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

bridle  and  dragged  him,  in  spite  of  himself,  through  the  cower- 
ing, shrieking,  struggling  crowd. 

On  came  the  flames,  Jeapiiig  and  crackling,  laughing  and 
shrieking,  like  a  live  fiend.  The  archers  and  slingers  in  the 
boats  cowered  before  it ;  and  fell,  scorched  corpses,  as  it  swept 
on.  It  reached  the  causeway,  surged  up,  recoiled  from  the  mass 
of  human  beings,  then  sprang  over  their  heads  and  passed  on- 
wards, girding  them  with  flame. 

The  reeds  were  burning  around  them ;  the  timbers  of  the  bridge 
caught  fire  ;  the  peat  and  fagots  smouldered  beneath  their  feet. 
They  sprang  from  the  burning  footway  and  plunged  into  the 
fathomless  bog,  covering  their  faces  and  eyes  with  scorched  hands, 
and  then  sank  in  the  black  gurgling  slime. 

Ivo  dragged  William  on,  regardless  of  curses  and  prayers  from 
his  soldiery  ;  and  they  readied  the  shore  just  in  time  to  see  be- 
tween them  and  the  water  a  long  black  smouldei'ing  writhing  line; 
the  morass  to  right  and  left,  which  had  been  a  minute  before  deep 
reed,  an  open  smutty  pool,  dotted  with  boatsful  of  shrieking  and 
cursing  men ;  and  at  the  causeway-end  the  tower,  with  the  flame 
climbing  up  its  posts,  and  the  witch  of  Brandon  throwing  herself 
desperately  from  the  top,  and  falling  dead  upon  the  embers,  a 
motionless  heap  of  rags. 

"  Fool  that  you  are  !  Fool  that  I  was  !  "  cried  the  great  king, 
as  he  rolled  ofi"  his  horse  at  his  tent  door,  cursing  with  rage  and 
pain. 

Ivo  Taillebois  sneaked  off,  sent  over  to  Mildenhall  for  the 
second  witch,  and  hanged  her,  as  some  small  comfort  to  liis  soul. 
Neither  did  he  forget  to  search  the  cabin  till  he  found  buried  in  a 
crock  the  bits  of  his  own  gold  chain  and  various  other  treasures, 
for  which  the  wretched  old  women  had  bartered  their  souls.  All 
which  he  confiscated  to  his  own  use,  as  a  much  injured  man. 

The  next  day  William  withdrew  his  army.  The  men  refused 
to  face  again  that  blood-stained  pass.  The  English  spells,  they 
said,  wei'e  stronger  than  theirs,  or  than  the  daring  of  brave  men. 
Let  William  take  Torfrida  and  burn  her,  as  she  had  burned  them, 
with  reeds  out  of  Willingham  fen ;  then  might  they  try  to  storm 
Ely  again. 

Torfrida  saw  them  turn,  flee,  die  in  agony.  Her  work  was 
done ;  her  passion  exhausted ;  her  self-torture,  and  the  mere 
weight  of  her  fetters,  which  she  had  sustained  during  her  passion, 
weighed  her  down  ;  she  dropped  senseless  on  the  turf,  and  lay  in 
a  trance  for  man}'  hours. 

Tlien  she  arose,  and  ca-ting  off  her  fetters  and  her  sackcloth, 
was  herself  again :  but  a  sadder  woman  till  her  dying  day. 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

HOW   KING    WILLIAM   TOOK   COUNSEL   OF   A   CHUECHMAN. 

If  Torfrida  was  exhausted,  so  was  Hereward  likewise.  He 
knew  well  that  a  repulse  was  not  a  defeat.  He  knew  well  the 
indomitable  persistence,  the  boundless  resources,  of  the  master- 
mind whom  he  defied ;  and  he  knew  well  that  another  attempt 
would  be  made,  and  then  another,  till  —  though  it  took  seven 
years  in  the  doing  —  Klj  would  be  won  at  last.  To  hold  out 
doggedly  as  long  as  he  could  was  his  plan  :  to  obtain  the  be.^t 
terms  he  could  for  his  comrades.  And  he  might  obtain  good 
terms  at  last.  William  might  be  glad  to  pay  a  fair  price  in  order 
to  escape  such  a  thorn  in  his  side  as  the  camp  of  refuge,  and  might 
deal  —  or,  at  least,  promi-e  to  deal  —  mercifully  and  generously 
with  the  last  remnant  of  the  English  genlry.  For  himselt^  yield 
he  would  not :  when  all  was  over,  he  would  flee  to  the  sea,  with 
Torfrida  and  his  own  housecarles,  and  turn  Viking;  or  go  to 
Sweyn  Ulfsson  in  Denmark,  and  die  a  free  man. 

The  English  did  not  foresee  these  things.  Their  hearts  were 
lifted  up  with  their  victory,  and  they  laughed  at  William  and  his 
French,  and  drank  Toifrida's  health  much  too  often  for  their 
own  good.  Hereward  did  not  care  to  undeceive  them.  But  he 
could  not  help  speaking  his  mind  in  the  abbot's  chamber  to 
Thurstan,  Egelwin,  and  his  nephews,  and  to  Sigtryg  Ranaldssou, 
who  was  still  in  Ely,  not  oidy  because  he  had  promised  to  stay 
there,  but  because  he  could  not  get  out  if  he  would. 

Blockaded  they  were  utterly,  by  land  and  water.  The  isle 
furnished  a  fair  supply  of  food ;  and  what  was  wanting,  they 
obtained  by  foraging.  But  they  had  laid  the  land  waste  for  so 
many  miles  round,  that  their  plundering  raids  brought  them  in 
less  than  of  old  ;  and  if  they  went  far,  they  fell  in  with  the 
French,  and  lost  good  men,  even  though  they  were  generally 
successful.  So  provisions  were  running  somewhat  short,  and 
would  run  shorter  still. 

Moreover,  there  was  a  great  cause  of  anxiety.  Bishop  Egel- 
win, Abbot  Thurstan,  and  the  monks  of  Ely  were  in  rebellion, 
not  only  against  King  William,  but  more  or  less  against  the  Pope 
of  Rome.  They  might  be  excommunicated.  The  minster  lands 
might  be  taken  away. 


294      HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

Bishop  Egelwiri  set  his  face  like  a  flint.  He  expected  no 
mercy.  All  he  had  ever  done  for  the  French  was  to  warn  Robert 
Comyn  that  if  he  stayed  in  Durham,  evil  would  befall  him.  But 
that  was  as  little  worth  to  him  as  it  was  to  the  said  Robert.  And 
no  mercy  he  craved.  The  less  a  man  had,  the  more  fit  he  was 
for  Heaven.  He  could  but  die  ;  and  that  he  had  known  ever 
since  he  was  a  chanter-boy.  Whether  he  died  in  Ely,  or  in 
prison,  mattered  little  to  him,  provided  they  did  not  refuse  him 
the  sacraments  ;  and  that  they  would  hardly  do.  But  call  the 
Duke  of  Normandy  his  rightful  sovereign  he  would  not,  because 
he  was  not,  —  nor  anybody  else  just  now,  as  far  as  he  could  see. 

Valiant  likewise  was  Abbot  Thurstan,  for  himself.  But  he 
had  —  unlike  Bishop  Egelwin,  whose  diocese  had  been  given  to 
a  Frenchman  —  an  abbey,  monks,  and  broad  lands,  whereof  he 
was  father  and  steward.  And  he  must  do  what  was  best  for  the 
abbey,  and  also  what  the  monks  would  let  him  do.  For  severe 
as  was  the  discipline  of  a  minster"  in  time  of  peace,  yet  in  time 
of  war,  when  life  and  death  were  in  question,  monks  had  ere 
now  turned  valiant  from  very  fear,  like  Cato's  mouse,  and  mu- 
tinied :  and  so  might  the  monks  of  Ely. 

And  Edwin  and  Morcar? 

No  man  knows  what  they  said  or  thought ;  perhaps  no  man 
cared  much,  even  in  their  own  days.  No  hint  does  any  chron- 
icler give  of  what  manner  of  men  they  were,  or  what  manner  of 
deeds  they  did.  Fair,  gentle,  noble,  beloved  even  by  William, 
they  are  mere  names,  and  nothing  more,  in  history :  and  it  is  to 
be  supposed,  therefore,  that  they  were  nothing  more  in  fact.  The 
race  of  Leofric  and  Godiva  had  worn  itself  out. 

One  night  the  confederates  had  sat  late,  talking  over  the  future 
more  earnestly  than  usual.  Edwin,  usually  sad  enough,  was  es- 
pecially sad  that  night. 

Hereward  jested  with  him,  tried  to  cheer  him ;  but  he  was 
silent,  would  not  drink,  and  went  away  before  the  rest. 

The  next  morning  he  was  gone,  and  with  him  half  a  dozen  of 
his  private  housecarles. 

Hereward  was  terrified.  If  defections  once  began,  they  would 
be  endless.  The  camp  would  fall  to  pieces,  and  every  man  among 
them  would  be  hanged,  mutilated,  or  imprisoned,  one  by  one, 
helplessly.     They  must  stand  or  fall  together. 

He  went  raging  to  Morcar.  Morcar  knew  naught  of  it.  On 
the  faith  and  honor  of  a  knight,  he  knew  naught.  Only  his 
brother  had  said  to  him  a  day  or  two  before,  that  he  must  see  his 
betrothed  before  he  died. 

"  He  is  gone  to  William,  tlien  ?  Does  he  think  to  win  her  now, 
—  an  outcast  and  a  beggar,  —  when  he  was  refused  her  with 


HEEEWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH.  295 

broad  lands  and  a  thousand  men  at  his  back  ?  Fool !  See  that 
thou  play  not  the  fool  likewise,  nephew,  or  —  " 

"  Or  what  ?  "  said  Morcar,  defiantly. 

"  Or  thou  wilt  go,  whither  Edwin  is  gone, —  to  betrayal  and 
ruin." 

"  Why  so  ?  He  has  been  kind  enough  to  Waltheof  and  Gos- 
patrick,  why  not  to  Edwio  ?  " 

"  Because,"  laughed  Hereward,  he  wanted  Waltheof,  and  he 
does  not  want  you  and  Edwin.  He  can  keep  Mercia  quiet  with- 
out your  help.  Northumbria  and  the  Fens  he  cannot  without 
Waltheof 's.  They  are  a  rougher  set  as  you  go  east  and  north,  as 
you  should  know  alreadjf,  and  must  have  one  of  themselves  over 
them  to  keep  them  in  good  humor  for  a  while.  When  he  has  used 
Waltheof  as  his  stalking-horse  long  enough  to  build  a  castle  every 
ten  miles,  he  will  throw  him  away  like  a  worn  bowstring.  Earl 
Morcar,  nephew  mine." 

Morcar  shook  his  head. 

In  a  week  more  he  was  gone  likewise.  He  came  to  William 
at  Brandon. 

"  You  are  come  in  at  last,  young  earl  ?  "  said  William,  sternly. 
"  You  are  come  too  late." 

"I  throw  myself  on  your  knightly  faith,"  said  Morcar.  But 
he  had  come  in  an  angry  and  unlucky  hour. 

"  How  well  have  you  kept  your  own,  twice  a  rebel,  that  you 
should  appeal  to  mine?     Take  him  away." 

"  And  hang  him  ?  "  asked  Ivo  Taillebois. 

"  Pish  !  No,  —  thou  old  butcher.  Put  him  in  irons,  and  send 
him  into  Normandy." 

"  Send  him  to  Roger  de  Beaumont,  Sire.  Roger's  son  is  safe 
in  Morcar's  ca^;tle  at  Warwick,  so  it  is  but  fair  that  Morcar  should 
be  safe  in  Roger's." 

And  to  Roger  de  Beaumont  he  was  sent,  while  young  Roger 
was  Lord  of  Warwick,  and  all  around  that  once  was  Leofric  and 
Godiva's. 

Morcar  lay  in  a  Norman  keep  till  the  day  of  William's  death. 
On  his  death-bed  the  tyrant's  heart  smote  him,  and  he  sent  orders 
to  release  him.  For  a  i'ew  short  days,  or  hours,  he  breathed  free 
air  again.     Then  Rufus  shut  him  up  once  more,  and  forever. 

And  that  was  the  end  of  Earl  Morcar. 

A  few  weeks  after,  three  men  came  to  the  camp  at  Brandon, 
and  they  brought  a  head  to  the  king.  And  when  William  looked 
upon  it,  it  was  the  head  of  Edwin. 

The  human  heart  must  have  burst  up  again  in  the  tyrant,  as 
he  looked  on  the  fair  face  of  him  he  had  so  loved,  and  so  wronged ; 
for  they  say  he  wept. 


296  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

The  knights  and  earls  stood  round,  amazed  and  awed,  as  they 
saw  iron  tears  run  down  Pluto's  cheek. 

"  How  came  this  here,  knaves  ?  "  thundered  he  at  last. 

Thej  told  a  rambling  story,  how  Edwin  always  would  needs 
go  to  Winchester,  to  see  the  queen,  for  she  would  stand  his  friend, 
and  do  him  right.  And  how  they  could  not  get  to  Winchester, 
for  fear  of  the  French,  and  wandered  in  woods  and  wolds ; 
and  how  they  were  set  upon,  and  hunted;  and  how  Edwin  still 
was  mad  to  go  to  Winchester :  but  when  he  could  not,  he  would 
go  to  Blelhwallon  and  his  Welsh;  and  how  Earl  Randal  of  Ches- 
ter set  upon  them ;  and  how  they  got  between  a  stream  and  the 
tide-way  of  the  Dee,  and  were  cut  off.  And  how  Edwin  would 
not  yield.  And  how  then  they  slew  him  in  self-defence,  and 
Randal  let  them  bring  the  head  to  the  king. 

This,  or  something  like  it,  was  their  story.  But  who  could  be- 
lieve traitors  ?  Where  Edwin  wandered,  what  he  did  during  those 
months,  no  man  knows.  All  that  is  known  is,  three  men  brought 
his  head  to  William,  and  told  some  such  tale.  And  so  the  old 
nobility  of  England  died  up  and  down  the  ruts  and  shaughs,  like 
wounded  birds ;  and,  as  of  wounded  birds,  none  knew  or  cared 
how  far  they  had  run,  or  how  their  broken  bones  had  ached  be- 
fore they  died. 

"  Out  of  their  own  mouths  they  are  condemned,  says  Holy 
Writ,"  thundered  William.     "  Hang  them  on  high." 

And  hanged  on  high  they  were,  on  Brandon  heath. 

Then  the  king  turned  on  his  courtiers,  glad  to  ease  his  own 
conscience  by  cursing  them. 

"This  is  your  doing,  sirs!  If  I  had  not  listened  to  your  base 
counsels,  Edwin  might  have  been  now  my  faithful  liegeman  and 
my  son-ifl-law  ;  and  I  had  had  one  more  Englishman  left  in  peace, 
and  one  less  sin  upon  my  soul." 

"  And  one  less  thorn  in  thy  side,"  quoth  Ivo  Taillebois. 

"  Who  spoke  to  thee  ?  Ralph  Guader,  thou  gavest  me  the 
counsel :  thou  wilt  answer  it  to  God  and  his  saints." 

"  That  did  I  not.  It  was  Earl  Roger,  because  he  wanted  the 
man's  Shropshire  lands." 

Whereon  high  words  ensued ;  and  the  king  gave  the  earl  the 
lie  in  his  teeth,  which  the  earl  did  not  forget. 

''  I  think,"  said  the  rough,  shrewd  voice  of  Ivo,  "  that  instead 
of  crying  over  spilt  milk,  —  for  milk  the  lad  was,  and  never 
would  have  grown  to  good  beef,  had  he  lived  to  my  age  —  " 

"  Who  si)oke  to  tliee  ?  " 

"  No  man,  and  for  that  reason  I  spoke  myself.  I  have  lands 
in  Spalding,  by  your  Majesty's  grace,  and  wish  to  enjoy  them  iu 
peace,  having  worked  for  them  hard  enough,  —  and  how  can  I  do 
that,  as  long  as  Hereward  sits  in  Ely  ?  " 


HEREWAED,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       297 

"Splendeur  Dex  !  "  said  William,  "  thou  art  right,  old  butcher." 

So  they  laid  their  head-s  together  to  slay  Hereward.  And 
after  they  had  talked  awhile,  then  spoke  William's  chaplain  for 
the  nonce,  an  Italian,  a  friend  and  pupil  of  Lanfranc  of  Pavia, 
an  Italian  also,  then  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  scourging  and 
imprisoning  English  monks  in  the  south.  And  he  spoke  like  an 
Italian  of  those  times,  wlio  knew  the  ways  of  Rome. 

"If  his  Majesty  will  allow  my  humility  to  suggest  —  " 

"  What  ?  Thy  humility  is  proud  enough  under  the  rose,  I 
will  warrant :  but  it  has  a  Roman  wit  under  the  rose  likewise. 
Speak ! " 

"  That  when  the  secular  and  carnal  arm  has  failed,  as.  it  is 
written,  *  He  poureth  contempt  upon  princes,  and  letteth  them 
wander  out  of  the  way  in  the  wilderness,  or  fens,  —  for  the 
Latin  word,  and  I  doubt  not  the  Hebrew,  has  both  meanings." 

"Splendeur  Dex!"  cried  WiUiam,  bitterly;  "that  hath  he 
done  with  a  vengeance!     Thou  art  right  so  far.  Clerk!" 

"  Yet  helpeth  He  the  poor,  videlicet,  his  Cliurch  and  the  re- 
ligious, who  are  vowed  to  holy  poverty,  out  of  misery,  videlicet, 
the  oppression  of  barbarous  customs,  and  maketh  them  house- 
hold-; like  a  tlock  of  sheep." 

"  They  do  that  for  themselves  already,  here  in  England,"  said 
William,  with  a  sneer  at  the  fancied  moi-als  of  the  English  monks 
and  clergy.f 

"  But  Heaven,  and  not  the  Church,  does  it  for  the  true  poor, 
vphom  your  Majesty  is  bringing  in,  to  your  endless  glory." 

"  But  what  has  all  this  to  do  with  taking  Ely  ?  "  asked  William, 
impatiently.     "  I  asked  thee  for  reason,  and  not  sermons." 

"  This.  That  it  is  in  the  power  of  the  Holy  Father,  —  and 
that  power  he  would  doubtless  allow  you,  as  his  dear  son  and 
most  faithful  servant,  to  employ  for  yourself,  without  sending  to 
Rome,  which  might  cause  painful  delays  —  to  —  " 

It  might  seem  'stranger  that  William,  Taillebois,  Guader,  War- 
renne,  short-spoken,  hard-headed,  swearing  warriors,  could  allow, 
complacently,  a  smooth  churchman  to  dawdle  on  like  this,  count- 

*  I  do  not  laugh  at  Holy  Scripture  myself.  I  only  insert  this  as  a  specimen 
of  the  usual  mediaeval  "  cant,"  —  a  name  and  a  practice  which  are  both  derived, 
not  from  Puritans,  but  from  monks. 

t  The  alleged  profligacy  and  sen-suality  of  the  English  Church  before  the 
Conquest  rests  merely  on  a  few  violent  and  vague  expressions  of  the  Norman 
monks  who  displaced  them.  No  facts,  as  far  as  I  can  find,  have  ever  been  al- 
leged. And  without  facts  on  the  other  side,  an  impartial  man  will  hold  by  the 
one  fact  which  is  certain,  that  the  Church  of  England,  popish  as  it  was,  was, 
unfortunately  for  it,  not  popish  enough  ;  and  from  its  insular  freedom,  obnoxious 
to  the  Church  of  Rome,  and  the  ultramontane  clergy  of  Normandy  ;  and  was 
therefore  to  be  believed  capable  —  and  therefore  again  accused  —  of  any  and 
every  crime. 

13* 


298       HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

ing  his  periods  on  his  fingers,  and  seemingly  never  coming  to  the 
point. 

But  they  knew  well,  that  the  churchman  was  a  far  cunninger, 
as  well  as  a  more  learned,  man  than  themselves.  They  knew 
•well  that  they  could  not  hurry  him,  and  that  they  need  not ;  that 
he  would  make  his  point  at  last,  hunting  it  out  step  by  step,  and 
letting  them  see  how  he  got  thither,  like  a  cunning  hound.  They 
knew  that  if  he  spoke,  he  had  thought  long  and  craftily,  till  he 
had  made  up  his  mind ;  and  that,  therefore,  he  would  very  prob- 
ably make  up  their  minds  likewise.  It  was  —  as  usual  in  that 
age  —  the  conquest,  not  of  a  heavenly  spirit,  though  it  boasted 
itself  such,  but  of  a  cultivated  mind  over  brute  flesh. 

They  might  have  said  all  this  aloud,  and  yet  the  churchman 
•would  have  gone  on,  as  he  did,  where  he  left  off,  with  unaltered 
blandness  of  tone. 

"  To  convert  to  other  uses  the  goods  of  the  Church,  —  to  con- 
vert them  to  profane  uses  would,  I  need  not  say,  be  a  sacrilege  as 
horrible  to  Heaven  as  impossible  to  so  pious  a  monarch  —  " 

Ivo  Taillebois  winced.  He  had  just  stolen  a  manor  from  the 
monks  of  Crowland,  and  meant  to  keep  it. 

"  Church  lands  belonging  to  abbeys  or  sees,  whose  abbots  or 
bishops  are  contumaciously  disobedient  to  the  Holy  See,  or  to 
their  lawful  monarch,  he  being  in  the  communion  of  the  Church 
and  at  peace  with  the  said  Holy  See.  If,  therefore,  —  to  come  to 
that  point  at  which  my  incapacity,  through  the  devious  windings 
of  my  own  simplicity,  has  been  tending,  but  with  halting  steps, 
from  tlie  moment  that  your  Majesty  deigned  to  hear  —  " 

"  Put  in  the  spur,  man  ! "  said  Ivo,  tired  at  last,  "  and  run  the 
deer  to  soil." 

"  Hurry  no  man's  cattle,  especially  thine  own,"  answered  the 
churchman,  with  so  shrewd  a  wink,  and  so  cheery  a  voice,  that 
Ivo,  when  he  recovered  from  his  surprise,  cried,  — 

"  Wliy,  thou  art  a  good  huntsman  thyself,  I  believe  now." 

"  All  things  to  all  men,  if  by  any  means  —  But  to  return.  If 
your  Majesty  should  think  fit  to  proclaim  to  the  recalcitrants  of 
Ely,  that  unless  they  submit  themselves  to  your  Royal  Grace  — 
and  to  that,  of  course,  of  His  Holiness,  our  Father — within  a 
certain  day,  you  will  convert  to  other  uses  —  premising,  to  avoid 
scandal,  that  those  uses  shall  be  for  the  benefit  of  Holy  Church 
—  all  lands  and  manors  of  theirs  lying  without  the  precincts  of  the 
Isle  of  Ely,  —  those  lands  being,  as  is  known,  large,  and  of  great 
value,  —  Quid  plura?  Why  burden  your  exalted  intellect  by  de- 
tailing to  you  consequences  which  it  has,  long  ere  now,  foreseen." 

"****"  quoth  William,  who  was  as  sharp  as  the  Italian, 
and  had  seen  it  all.     "  I  will  make  thee  a  bishop ! " 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       299 

"  Spare  to  burden  my  weakness,"  said  the  chaplain ;  and  slipt 
away  into  the  shade. 

"  You  will  take  his  advice  ?  "  asked  Ivo. 

"I  will." 

"  Then  I  shall  see  that  Torfrida  burn  at  last." 

"  Burn  her  ?  "  and  William  swore. 

"  I  promised  my  soldiers  to  burn  the  witch  with  reeds  out  of 
Haddenham  fen,  as  she  had  burned  them ;  and  I  must  keep  my 
knightly  word." 

William  swore  yet  more.  Ivo  Taillebois  was  a  butcher  and 
a  churl. 

"  Call  me  not  butcher  and  churl  too  often,  Lord  King,  ere  thou 
hast  found  whether  thou  needest  me  or  not.  Rough  I  may  be, 
false  was  I  never." 

"  That  thou  wert  not,"  said  William,  who  needed  Taillebois 
much,  and  feared  him  somewhat ;  and  remarked  something  mean- 
ing in  his  voice,  which  made  him  cahii  himself,  diplomat  as  he 
was,  instantly.     "  But  burn  Torfrida  thou  shalt  not." 

"  Well,  I  care  not.  I  have  seen  a  woman  burnt  ere  now,  and 
had  no  fancy  for  the  screeching.  Beside,  they  say  she  is  a  very 
fair  dame,  and  has  a  fair  daughter,  too,  coming  on,  and  she  may 
very  well  make  a  wife  for  a  Norman." 

"  Marry  her  thyself." 

"  I  shall  have  to  kill  Hereward  first." 

"  Then  do  it,  and  I  will  give  thee  his  lands." 

"  I  may  have  to  kill  others  before  Hereward." 

"  You  may  ?  " 

And  so  the  matter  dropped.  But  William  caught  Ivo  alone 
after  an  hour,  and  asked  him  what  he  meant. 

"  No  pay,  no  play.  Lord  King,  I  have  served  thee  well,  rough 
and  smooth." 

"  Thou  hast,  and  hast  been  well  paid.  But  if  I  have  said 
aught  hasty  —  " 

"  Pish,  Majesty.  I  am  a  plain-spoken  man,  and  like  a  plain- 
spoken  master.  But,  instead  of  marrying  Torfrida  or  her  daugh- 
ter, I  have  more  mind  to  her  niece,  who  is  younger,  and  has  no 
Hereward  to  be  killed  first," 

"  Her  niece  ?     Who  ?  " 

"  Lucia,  as  we  call  her,  —  Edwin  and  Morcar's  sister,  —  Here- 
ward's  niece,  Torfrida's  niece." 

"  No  pay,  no  play,  saidst  thou  ?  —  so  say  I.  What  meant  you 
by  having  to  kill  others  before  Hereward  ?  " 

"Beware  of  Waltheof !"  said  Ivo. 

"  Waltheof  ?  Pish  !  This  is  one  of  thy  inventions  for  making 
me  hunt  every  Englishman  to  death,  that  thou  mayest  gnaw  their 
bones." 


300  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

•*  Is  it  ?     Then  this  I  say  more.     Beware  of  Ralph  Guader ! " 

"  Pish ! " 

"  Pish  on,  Lord  King."  Etiquette  was  not  yet  discovered  by 
Norman  barons  and  earls,  who  thought  themselves  all  but  as  good 
as  their  king,  gave  him  their  advice  when  they  thought  fit,  and 
if  he  did  not  take  it,  attacked  him  with  all  their  meinie.  "  Pish 
on,  but  listen.     Beware  of  Roger  !  " 

"  And  what  more  ?  " 

"  And  give  me  Lucia.     I  want  her.     I  will  have  her.'* 

William  laughed.  "  Thou  of  all  men !  To  mix  that  ditch- 
water  with  that  wine  ?  " 

"  They  were  mixed  in  thy  blood,  Lord  King,  and  thou  art  the 
better  man  for  it,  so  says  the -world.  Old  wine  and  old  blood 
throw  any  lees  to  the  bottom  of  the  cask ;  and  we  shall  have  a 
son  worthy  to  ride  behind  —  " 

"  Take  care  !  "  quoth  William. 

"  The  greatest  captain  npon  earth." 

William  laughed  again,  like  Odin's  self. 

"  Thou  shalt  have  Lucia  for  that  word." 

"And  thou  shalt  have  the  plot  ere  it  breaks.     As  it  will." 

"  To  this  have  I  come  at  last,"  said  William  to  himself,  as  they 
parted.  "To  murder  these  English  nobles,  to  marry  their  daugh- 
ters to  my  grooms.  Heaven  forgive  me  !  They  have  brought 
it  upon  themselves  by  contumacy  to  Holy  Church." 

"  Call  my  secretary,  some  one." 

The  Italian  re-entered. 

"The  valiant  and  honorable  and  illustrious  knight,  Ivo  Taille- 
bois,  Lord  of  Holland  and  Kesteven,  weds  Lucia,  sister  of  the 
late  earls  Edwin  and  Morcar,  now  with  the  queen  ;  and  with 
her,  her  manors.     You  will  prepare  the  papers. 

"  I  am  yours  to  death,"  said  Ivo. 

"To  do  you  justice,  I  think  thou  wert  that  already.  Stay — ■ 
here  —  Sir  Priest  —  do  you  know  any  man  who  knows  this  Tor- 
frida?" 

"  I  do.  Majesty,"  said  Ivo.  There  is  one  Sir  Ascelin,  a  man 
of  Gilbert's,  in  the  camp." 

"  Send  for  him." 

"  This  Torfrida,"  said  William,  "  haunts  me." 

"  Pray  Heaven  she  have  not  bewitched  your  Majesty." 

"  Tut !  I  ara  too  old  a  campaigner  to  take  much  harm  by  wo- 
man's sharpshooting  at  fifteen  score  yards  off",  beside  a  deep  stream 
between.  No.  The  woman  has  courage,  —  and  beauty,  too,  you 
say?" 

"What  of  that,  0  Prince?"  said  the  Italian.  "Who  more 
beautiful  —  if  report  be  true  —  than  those  lost  women  who  dance 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.      301 

nightly  in  the  fore^s  with  Venus  and  Herodias,  —  as  it  may  be 
this  Torfrida  has  done  many  a  time?" 

"  You  priests  are  apt  to  be  hard  upon  poor  women." 

"  The  fox  found  that  the  grapes  were  sour,"  said  the  Italian, 
laugliing  at  himself  and  his  cloth,  or  at  anything  else  by  which 
he  could  curry  favor. 

"  And  this  woman  was  no  vulgar  witch.  That  sort  of  person- 
age suits  Taillebois's  taste,  rather  than  Here  ward's." 

"  Hungry  dogs  eat  dirty  pudding,"  said  Ivo,  pertinently. 

"  The  woman  believed  herself  in  the  right.  She  believed  that 
the  saints  of  heaven  were  on  her  side.  I  saw  it  in  her  attitude, 
in  her  gestures.     Perhaps  she  was  right." 

"  Sire  ?  "  said  both  by-standers,  in  astonishment. 

"  I  would  fain  see  that  woman,  and  see  her  husband  too.  They 
are  folks  after  my  own  heart.  I  would  give  them  an  earldom  to 
win  them." 

"  I  hope  that  in  that  day  you  will  allow  your  faithful  servant 
Ivo  to  retire  to  his  ancestral  manors  in  Anjou  ;  for  England  will 
be  too  hot  for  him.  Sire,  you  know  not  this  man,  —  a  liar,  a 
bully,  a  robber,  a  swash-buckling  ruffian,  who  — "  and  Ivo  ran 
on  with  furious  invective,  after  the  fashion  of  the  Normans,  who 
considered  no  name  too  bad  for  an  English  rebel. 

"  Sir  Ascelin,"  said  William,  as  Ascelin  came  in,  "  you  know 
Hereward  ?  " 

Ascelin  bowed  assent. 

"  Are  these  things  true  which  Ivo  alleges  ?  " 

"  The  Lord  Taillebois  may  know  best  what  manner  of  man  he 
is  since  he  came  into  this  English  air,  which  changes  some  folks 
mightily,"  with  a  hardly  disguised  sneer  at  Ivo;  "but  in  Flan- 
ders he  was  a  very  perfect  knight,  beloved  and  honored  of  all 
men,  and  especially  of  your  father-in-law,  the  great  marquis." 

"  He  is  a  friend  of  yours,  then  ?  " 

"  No  man  less.  I  owe  him  more  than  one  grudge,  though  all 
in  fair  quarrel ;  and  one,  at  least,  which  can  only  be  wiped  out 
in  blood." 

"Eh!     What?" 

Ascelin  hesitated. 

"  Tell  me,  sir  ! "  thundered  William,  "  unless  you  have  aught 
to  be  ashamed  of." 

"  It  is  no  shame,  as  far  as  I  know,  to  confess  that  I  was  once 
a  suitor,  as  were  all  knights  for  miles  round,  for  the  hand  of  the 
once  peerless  Torfrida.  And  no  shame  to  confess,  that  when 
Hereward  knew  thereof,  he  sought  me  out  at  a  tournament,  and 
served  me  as  he  has  served  many  a  better  man  before  and  since." 

"  Over  thy  horse's  croup,  eh  ?  "  said  William. 


302  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

"  I  am  not  a  bad  horseman,  as  all  kno;kv,  Lord  King.  But 
Heaven  save  nie,  and  all  I  love,  from  that  Hereward.  They  say 
he  has  seven  men's  strength ;  and  I  verily  can  testify  to  the  truth 
thereof." 

''  That  may  be  by  enchantment,"  interposed  the  Italian. 

"  True,  Sir  Priest.  This  I  know,  that  he  wears  enchanted 
armor,  which  Torfrida  gave  him  before  she  married  him." 

'•  Enchantments  again,"  said  the  secretary. 

"  Tell  me  now  about  Torfrida,"  said  William. 

Ascelin  told  him  all  about  her,  not  forgetting  to  say  —  what, 
according  to  the  chronicler,  was  a  common  report  —  that  she  had 
compassed  Hereward's  love  by  magic  arts.  She  used  to  practise 
sorcery,  he  said,  with  her  sorceress  mistress,  Richilda  of  Hainault. 
All  men  knew  it.  Arnoul,  Richilda's  son,  was  as  a  brother  to  her. 
And  after  old  Baldwin  died,  and  Baldwin  of  Mons  and  Richilda 
came  to  Bruges,  Torfrida  was  always  with  her  while  Hereward 
was  at  the  wars. 

"  The  woman  is  a  manifest  and  notorious  witch,"  said  the  sec- 
retary. 

"  It  seems  so  indeed,"  said  William,  with  something  like  a  sigh. 
And  so  were  Torfrida's  early  follies  visited  on  her ;  as  all  early 
follies  are.  "  But  Hereward,  you  say,  is  a  good  knight  and 
true  ?  " 

"  Doubtless.  Even  when  he  committed  that  great  crime  at 
Peterborough  —  " 

"  For  which  he  and  all  his  are  duly  excommunicated  by  the 
Bishop,"  said  the  secretary. 

"  He  did  a  very  courteous  and  honorable  thing."  And  Ascelia 
told  how  he  had  saved  Alftruda,  and  instead  of  putting  her  to 
ransom,  had  sent  her  safe  to  Gilbert. 

"  A  very  kniglitly  deed.     He  should  be  rewarded  for  it." 

"  W^hy  not  burn  the  witch,  and  reward  him  with  Alftruda  in- 
stead, since  your  Majesty  is  in  so  gracious  a  humor  ?  "  said  Ivo. 

"  Alftruda !  Who  is  she  ?  Ay,  I  recollect  her.  Young  Dol- 
lin's  wife.     Why,  she  has  a  husband  already." 

"  Ay,  but  his  Holiness  at  Rome  can  set  that  right.  What  is 
there  that  he  cannot  do  ?  " 

"There  are  limits,  I  fear,  even  to  his  power.     Eh,  priest?" 

"  What  his  Holiness's  powers  as  the  viceroy  of  Divinity  on  earth 
might  be,  did  he  so  choose,  it  were  irreverent  to  inquire.  But  as 
he  condescends  to  use  that  power  only  for  the  good  of  mankind, 
he  condescends,  like  Divinity,  to  be  bound  by  the  very  laws  which 
he  has  promulgated  for  the  benefit  of  his  subjects ;  and  to  make 
himself  only  a  life-giving  sun,  when  he  might  be  a  destructive 
thunderbolt." 


HEREWAED,   THE   LAST   OF   THE   ENGLISH.  303 

"  He  is  very  kind,  and  we  all  owe  him  thanks,"  said  Ivo,  who 
had  a  confused  notion  that  the  Pope  might  strike  him  dead  with 
lightning,  but  was  good-natured  enough  not  to  do  so.  "  Still, 
he  might  think  of  this  plan ;  for  they  say  that  the  lady  is  an 
old  friend  of  Hereward's,  and  not  over  fond  of  her  Scotch  hus- 
band." 

"  That  I  know  well,"  said  William. 

"  And  beside  —  if  aught  untoward  should  happen  to  Dolfin  and 
his  kin  — " 

"  She  might,  with  her  broad  lands,  be  a  fine  bait  for  Hereward. 
I  see.  Now,  do  this,  by  my  command.  Send  a  trusty  monk  into 
Ely.  Let  him  tell  the  monks  that  we  have  determined  to  seize 
all  their  outlying  lands,  unless  they  surrender  within  the  week. 
And  let  him  tell  Hereward,  by  the  faith  and  oath  of  William  of 
Normandy,  that  if  he  will  surrender  himself  to  my  grace,  he  shall 
have  his  lands  in  Bourne,  and  a  free  pai'don  for  himself  and  all 
his  comrades." 

The  men  dissented,  much  against  their  will,  and  went  out  on 
their  errand. 

"  You  have  played  me  a  scurvy  trick,  sir,"  said  Ascelin,  "  in 
advising  the  king  to  give  the  Lady  Alftruda  to  Hereward." 

"  What  I  Did  you  want  her  yourself?  On  my  honor  I  knew 
not  of  it.  But  have  patience.  You  shall  have  her  yet,  and  all 
her  lands,  if  you  will  hear  my  counsel,  and  keep  it." 

"  But  you  would  give  her  to  Hereward ! " 

"  And  to  you  too.  It  is  a  poor  bait,  say  these  frogs  of  fenmen, 
that  will  not  take  two  pike  running.  Listen  to  me.  I  must  kill 
this  Hereward.  I  hate  him.  I  cannot  eat  my  meat  for  thinking 
of  him.     Kill  him  I  must." 

"  And  so  must  L" 

"  Then  we  are  both  agreed.  Let  us  work  together,  and  never 
mind  if  one's  blood  be  old  and  the  other's  new.  I  am  neither 
fool  nor  weakly,  as  thou  knowest." 

Ascelin  could  not  but  assent. 

"  Then  here.  We  must  send  the  King's  message.  But  we 
must  add  to  it." 

"  That  is  dangerous." 

"  So  is  war ;  so  is  eating,  drinking ;  so  is  everything.  But 
we  must  not  let  Hereward  come  in.  We  must  drive  him  to 
despair.  Make  the  messenger  add  but  one  word, —  that  the 
king  exempts  from  the  amnesty  Torfrida,  on  account  of —  Y''ou 
can  put  it  into  more  scholarly  shape  than  I  can.  " 

"  On  account  of  her  abominable  and  notorious  sorceries ;  and 
demands  that  she  shall  be  given  up  forthwith  to  the  ecclesiastical 
power,  to  be  judged  as  she  deserves." 


304  HEREWAED,   THE   LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH. 

"  Just  so.  And  then  for  a  load  of  reeds  out  of  Haddenhara 
fen." 

"  Heaven  forbid ! "  said  Ascelin,  who  had  loved  her  once. 
"  Would  not  perpetual  imprisonment  suffice  ?  " 

"  What  care  I  ?  That  is  the  churchmen's  affair,  not  ours. 
But  I  fear  we  shall  not  get  her.  Even  so  Hereward  will  flee 
with  her,  —  maybe  escape  to  Flanders,  or  Denmark.  He  can 
escape  through  a  rat's-hole  if  he  will.  And  then  we  are  at 
peace.  I  had  sooner  kill  him  and  have  done  with  it :  but  out 
of  the  way  he  must  be  put." 

So  they  sent  a  monk  in  with  the  message,  and  commanded 
him  to  tell  the  article  about  the  Lady  Torfrida,  not  only  to 
Hereward,  but  to  the   abbot  and  all   the   monks. 

A  curt  and  fierce  answer  came  back,  not  from  Hereward,  but 
from  Torfrida  herself,  —  that  William  of  Normandy  was  no 
knight  himself,  or  he  would  not  offer  a  knight  his  life,  on  con- 
dition of  burning  his  lady. 

William  swore  horribly.  "  What  is  all  this  about  ?  "  They 
told  him  —  as  much  as  they  chose  to  tell  him.  He  was  very 
wroth.  "  Who  was  Ivo  Taillebois,  to  add  to  his  message  ?  He 
had  said  that  Torfrida  should  not  burn."  Taillebois  was  stout ; 
for  he  had  won  the  secretary  over  to  his  side  meanwhile.  He 
had  said  nothing  about  burning.  He  had  merely  supplied  an 
oversight  of  the  king's.  The  woman,  as  the  secretary  knew, 
could  not,  with  all  deference  to  his  Majesty,  be  included  in  an 
amnesty.  She  was  liable  to  ecclesiastical  censure,  and  the 
ecclesiastical  courts.  William  might  exercise  his  influence  on 
them  in  all  lawful  ways,  and  more,  remit  her  sentence,  even  so 
far  as  to  pardon  her  entirely,  if  his  merciful  temper  should  so 
incline  him.  But  meanwhile,  what  better  could  he,  Ivo,  have 
done,  than  to  remind  the  monks  of  Ely  that  she  was  a  sorceress ; 
that  she  had  committed  grave  crimes,  and  was  liable  to  punish- 
ment herself,  and  they  to  punishment  also,  as  her  shelterers  and 
accomphces  ?  What  he  wanted  was  to  bring  over  the  monks  ; 
and  he  believed  that  message  had  been  a  good  stroke  toward 
that.  As  for  Hereward,  the  king  need  not  think  of  him.  He 
never  would  come  in  alive.  He  had  sworn  an  oath,  and  he 
would  keep  it. 

And  so  the  matter  ended. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 


HOW  THE   MONKS   OF   ELY   DID   AFTER   THEIE   KIND. 

"William's  bolt,  or  rather  inextinguishable  Greek  fire,  could 
not  have  fallen  into  Ely  at  a  more  propitious  moment. 

Hereward  was  away,  with  a  large  body  of  men,  and  many 
ships,  foraging  in  the  northeastern  fens.  He  might  not  be  back 
for  a  week. 

Abbot  Thurstan  —  for  what  cause  is  not  said  —  had  lost  heart 
a  little  while  before,  and  fled  to  "  Angerhale,  taking  with  him  the 
ornaments  and  treasure  of  the  church." 

Hereward  had  discovered  his  flight  with  deadly  fear :  but  pro- 
visions he  must  have,  and  forth  he  must  go,  leaving  Ely  in  charge 
of  half  a  dozen  independent  English  gentlemen,  each  of  whom 
would  needs  have  his  own  way,  just  because  it  was  his  own. 

Only  Torfrida  he  took,  and  put  her  hand  into  the  hand  of 
Ranald  Sigtrygsson,  and  said,  "  Thou  true  comrade  and  perfect 
knight,  as  I  did  by  thy  wife,  do  thou  by  mine,  if  aught  befall." 

And  Ranald  swore  first  by  the  white  Christ,  and  then  by  the 
head  of  Sleipnir,  Odin's  horse,  that  he  woidd  stand  by  Torfrida 
till  the  last ;  and  then,  if  need  was,  slay  her. 

"  You  will  not  need.  King  Ranald.  I  can  slay  myself,"  said 
she,  as  she  took  the  Ost-Dane's  hard,  honest  hand. 

And  Hereward  went,  seemingly  by  Mepal  or  Sutton.  Then 
came  the  message  ;  and  all  men  in  Ely  knew  it. 

Torfrida  stormed  down  to  the  monks,  in  honest  indignation,  to 
demand  that  they  should  send  to  William,  and  purge  her  of  the 
calumny.  She  found  the  Chapter-door  barred  and  bolted.  They 
were  all  gabbling  inside,  like  starlings  on  a  foggy  morning,  and 
would  not  let  her  in.  She  hurried  back  to  Ranald,  fearing  trea- 
son, and  foreseeing  the  effect  of  the  message  upon  the  monks. 

But  what  could  Ranald  do?  To  find  out  their  counsels  was 
impossible  for  him,  or  any  man  in  Ely.  For  the  monks  could 
talk  Latin,  and  the  men  could  not.  Torfrida  alone  knew  the 
sacred  tongue. 

If  Torfrida  could  but  listen  at  the  keyhole.  Well,  —  all  was 
fair  in  war.  And  to  the  Chapter-house  door  she  went,  guarded 
by  Ranald  and  some  of  his  housecarles,  and  listened,  with  a  beat- 
ing heart.     She  heard  words  now  incomprehensible.     That  men 

T 


306  HEREWARD,  THE   LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

who  most  of  them  lived  no  better  than  their  own  serfs  ;  who 
could  have  no  amount  of  wealth,  not  even  the  hope  of  leaving 
that  wealth  to  their  children,  —  should  cling  to  wealth,  —  strug- 
gle, forge,  lie,  do  anything  for  wealth,  to  be  used  almost  entirely 
not  for  themselves,  but  for  the  honor  and  glory  of  the  convent, — 
indicates  an  intensity  of  corporate  feeling,  unknown  in  the  outer 
world  then,  or  now. 

The  monastery  would  be  ruined  !  Without  this  manor,  without 
that  wood,  without  that  stone  quarry,  that  fishery,  —  what  would 
become  of  them  ? 

But  mingled  with  those  w^ords  were  other  words,  unfortunately 
more  intelligible  to  tliis  day,  —  those  of  superstition. 

What  would  St.  Etheldreda  say  ?  How  dare  they  provoke  her 
wrath  ?  Would  she  submit  to  lose  her  lands  ?  She  might  do,  — 
what  might  she  not  do  ?  Her  bones  would  refuse  ever  to  work 
a  miracle  again.  They  had  been  but  too  slack  in  miracle-working 
for  many  years.  She  might  strike  the  isle  with  baiTenness,  the 
minster  with  lightning.  She  might  send  a  flood  up  the  fens. 
She  might  — 

William  the  Norman,  to  do  them  justice,  those  valiant  monks 
feared  not ;  for  he  was  man,  and  could  but  kill  the  body.  But 
St.  Etheldreda,  a  virgin  goddess,  with  all  the  host  of  heaven  to 
back  her,  —  might  she  not,  by  intercession  with  powers  still 
higher  than  her  own,  destroy  both  body  and  soul  in  hell  ? 

"  We  are  betrayed.  Tliey  are  going  to  send  for  the  Abbot 
from  Angerhale,"  said  Torfrida  at  last,  reeling  from  the  door. 
"  All  is  lost." 

"  Shall  we  burst  open  the  door  and  kill  them  all  ? "  asked 
Ranald,  simply. 

"  No,  King,  —  no.  They  are  God's  men  ;  and  we  have  blood 
enough  on  our  souls." 

"  We  can  keep  the  gates,  lest  any  go  out  to  the  King." 

"  Impossible.  They  know  the  isle  better  than  we,  and  have  a 
thousand  arts." 

So  all  they  could  do  was  to  wait  in  fear  and  trembling  for 
Hereward's  return,  and  send  Martin  Lightfoot  off  to  warn  him, 
wherever  he  might  be. 

The  monks  remained  perfectly  quiet.  The  organ  droned,  the 
chants  wailed,  as  usual ;  nothing  interrupted  the  stated  order  of 
the  services ;  and  in  the  hall,  each  day,  they  met  the  knights  as 
cheerfully  as  ever.  Greed  and  superstition  had  made  cowards 
of  them,  —  and  now  traitors. 

It  was  whispered  that  Abbot  Thurstan  had  returned  to  the 
minster:  but  no  man  saw  him:  and  so  three  or  four  days  went 
on. 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  307 

Martin  found  Hereward  after  incredible  labors,  and  told  him  all, 
clearly  and  shrewdly.  The  man's  manifest  insanity  only  seemed 
to  quicken  his  wit,  and  increase  his  powers  of  bodily  endurance. 

Hereward  was  already  on  his  way  home ;  and  never  did  he 
and  his  good  men  row  harder  than  they  rowed  that  day  back  to 
Sutton.  He  landed,  and  hurried  on  with  half  his  men,  leaving 
the  rest  to  disembark  the  booty.  He  was  anxious  as  to  the 
temper  of  the  monks.  He  foresaw  all  that  Torfrida  had  foreseen. 
And  as  for  Torfrida  herself,  he  was  half  mad.  Ivo  Taillebois's 
addition  to  William's  message  had  had  its  due  effect.  He  vowed 
even  deadlier  hate  against  the  Norman  than  he  had  ever  felt 
before.  He  ascended  the  heights  to  Sutton.  It  was  his  shortest 
way  to  Ely.  He  could  not  see  Aldreth  from  thence ;  but  he 
could  see  Willingham  field,  and  Belsar's  hills,  round  the  corner 
of  Haddenham  Hill. 

The  sun  was  setting  long  before  they  reached  Ely ;  but  just  as 
he  sank  into  the  western  fen,  Winter  stopped,  pointing.  "  Was 
that  the  flash  of  arms  ?  There,  far  away,  just  below  Willingham 
town.  Or  was  it  the  setting  sun  upon  the  ripple  of  some  long 
water  ?  " 

"  There  is  not  wind  enough  for  such  a  ripple,"  said  one.  But 
ere  they  could  satisfy  themselves,  the  sun  was  down,  and  all  the 
fen  was  gray. 

Hereward  was  still  more  uneasy.  If  that  had  been  the  flash 
of  arms,  it  must  have  come  off  a  very  large  body  of  men,  moving 
in  column,  and  on  the  old  straight  road  between  Cambridge  and 
Ely.  He  hastened  on  his  men.  But  ere  they  were  within  sight 
of  the  minster-tower,  they  were  aware  of  a  horse  galloping  vio- 
lently towards  them  through  the  dusk.  Hereward  called  a  halt. 
He  heard  his  own  heart  beat  as  he  stopped.  The  hoi-se  was 
pulled  up  short  among  them,  and  a  lad  threw  himself  off. 

"  Hereward  ?     Tliank  God,  I  am  in  time  !  " 

The  voice  was  the  voice  of  Torfrida. 

"  Treason  !  "  she  gasped. 

"  I  knew  it." 

"  The  French  are  in  the  island.  They  have  got  Aldreth. 
The  whole  army  is  marching  from  Cambridge.  The  whole  fleet 
is  coming  up  from  Southrey.     And  you  have  time  —  " 

"  To  burn  Ely  over  the  monks'  heads.  Men  !  Get  bogwood 
out  of  yon  cottage,  make  yourselves  torches,  and  onward ! " 

Then  rose  a  babel  of  questions,  which  Torfrida  answered  as 
she  could.  But  she  had  nothing  to  tell.  "  Clerks'  cunning,"  she 
said  bitterly,  "  was  an  overmatch  for  woman's  wit."  She  had  sent 
out  a  spy :  but  he  had  not  returned  till  an  hour  since.  Then  he 
came  back  breathless,  with  the  news  that  the  French  army  was 


308  HEEEWAED,  THE  LAST   OF   THE   ENGLISH. 

on  the  march  from  Cambridge,  and  that,  as  he  came  over  the 
water  at  Alrech,  he  found  a  party  of  French  knights  in  the  fort 
on  the  Ely  side,  talking  peaceably  with  the  monks  on  guard. 

She  had  run  up  to  the  borough  hill,  —  which  men  call  Cherry 
Hill  at  this  day,  —  and  one  look  to  the  northeast  had  shown  her 
the  river  swarming  with  ships.  She  had  rushed  home,  put  on 
men's  clothes,  hid  a  few  jewels  in  her  bosom,  saddled  Swallow, 
and  ridden  for  her  life  thither. 

"  And  King  Ranald  ?  " 

He  and  his  men  had  gone  desperately  out  towards  Haddenham, 
with  what  English  they  could  muster ;  but  all  were  in  confusion. 
Some  were  getting  the  women  and  children  into  boats,  to  hide 
them  in  the  reeds.  Others  battering  the  minster  gates,  vowing 
vengeance  on  the  monks. 

"Then  Ranald  will  be  cut  off!  Alas  for  the  day  that  ever 
brought  his  brave  heart  hither ! " 

And  when  the  men  heard  that,  a  yell  of  fury  and  despair  burst 
from  all  throats. 

Should  they  go  back  to  their  boats  ? 

"  No  !  onward,"  cried  Hereward.  "  Revenge  first,  and  safety 
after.  Let  us  leave  nothing  for  the  accursed  Frenchmen  but 
smoking  ruins,  and  then  gather  our  comrades,  and  cut  our  way 
back  to  the  north." 

"  Good  counsel,"  cried  Wintei'.  "  We  know  the  roads,  and 
they  do  not ;  and  in  such  a  dark  night  as  is  coming,  we  can 
march  out  of  the  island  without  their  being  able  to  follow  us  a 
mile." 

They  hurried  on ;  but  stopped  once  more,  at  the  galloping  of 
another  horse. 

"  Who  comes,  friend  or  foe  ?  " 

"  Alwyn,  son  of  Orgar !  "  cried  a  voice  under  breath.  "  Don't 
make  such  a  noise,  men  !  The  French  are  within  half  a  mile  of 
you." 

"  Then  one  traitor  monk  shall  die  ere  I  retreat,"  cried  Here- 
ward, seizing  him  by  the  throat. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  hold ! "  cried  Torfrida,  seizing  his  arm. 
"  You  know  not  what  he  may  have  to  say." 

"  I  am  no  traitor,  Hereward  ;  1  have  fought  by  your  side  as 
well  as  the  best ;  and  if  any  but  you  had  called  Alwyn  —  " 

"  A  curse  on  your  boa-ting.     Tell  us  the  truth." 

"  The  Abbot  has  made  peace  with  the  King.  He  would  give 
up  the  island,  and  St.  liltheldreda  should  keep  all  her  lands  and 
honors.  I  said  what  I  could  ;  but  who  was  I  to  resist  the  whole 
chapter?     Could  1  alone  brave  St.  Etheldreda's  wrath?" 

"  Alwyn,  the  valiant,  afraid  of  a  dead  girl ! " 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  309 

*'  Blaspheme  not,  Hereward !  She  may  hear  you  at  this  mo- 
ment !  Look  there ! "  and  pointing  up,  the  monk  cowered  in 
terror,  as  a  meteor  flashed  through  the  sky. 

"  That  is  St.  Etheldreda  siiooting  at  us,  eh  ?  Then  all  I  can 
say  is,  she  is  a  very  bad  mai'ksman.  And  the  French  are  in  the 
island?" 

"  They  are." 

"  Then  forward,  men,  for  one  half-hour's  pleasure ;  and  then  to 
die  like  Englishmen." 

"  On  ?  "  cried  Alwyn.  "  You  cannot  go  on.  The  King  is  at 
Whichford  at  this  moment'  with  all  his  array,  half  a  mile  off! 
Right  across  the  road  to  Ely!" 

Hereward  grew  Bei'serk.  "  On !  men  !  "  shouted  he,  "  we  shall 
kill  a  i'ew  Frenchmen  apiece  before  we  die  !  " 

"  Hereward,"  cried  Torfrida,  "  you  shall  not  go  on !  If  you 
go,  I  shall  be  taken.  And  if  I  am  taken,  I  shall  be  burned.  And 
I  cannot  burn,  —  I  cannot !  I  i^hall  go  mad  with  terror  before  I 
come  to  the  stake.  I  cannot  go  stript  to  my  smock  before  those 
Frenchmen.  I  cannot  be  roasted  piecemeal !  Hereward,  take 
me  away !     Take  me  away !  or  kill  me,  now  and  here ! " 

He  paused.     He  had  never  seen  Torfrida  thus  overcome. 

"  Let  us  flee !  The  stars  are  against  us.  God  is  against  us ! 
Let  us  hide,  —  escape  abroad:  beg  our  bread,  go  on  pilgrimage 
to  Jerusalem  together,  —  for  together  it  must  be  always :  but  take 
me  away ! " 

"  We  will  go  back  to  the  boats,  men,"  said  Hereward. 

But  they  did  not  go.  They  stood  there,  irresolute,  looking 
towards  Ely. 

The  sky  was  pitchy  dark.  The  minster  roofs,  lying  northeast, 
were  utterly  invisible  against  the  blackness. 

'•  We  may  at  least  save  some  who  escape  out,"  said  Hereward. 
"  March  on  quickly  to  the  left,  under  the  hill  to  the  plough- 
field." 

They  did  so. 

"  Lie  down,  men.  There  are  the  French,  close  on  our  right. 
Down  among  the  bushes." 

And  they  heard  the  heavy  tramp  of  men  within  a  quarter  of  a 
mile. 

"  Cover  the  mare's  eyes,  and  hold  her  mouth,  lest  she  neigh," 
said  Winter. 

Hereward  and  Torfrida  lay  side  by  side  upon  the  heath.  She 
was  shivering  with  cold  and  horror.  He  laid  his  cloak  over  her ; 
put  his  arm  round  her. 

"  Your  stars  did  not  foretell  you  this,  Torfrida."  He  spoke  not 
bitterly,  but  in  utter  sadness. 


310  HEEEWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

She  burst  into  an  agony  of  weeping. 

"  My  stars  at  least  foretold  me  nothing  but  woe,  since  first  I 
saw  your  face." 

"  Why  did  you  marry  me,  then  ?  "  asked  he,  half  angrily. 

"  Because  I  loved  you.     Because  I  love  you  still." 

*'  Then  you  do  not  regret  ?  " 

"  Never,  never,  never  !  I  am  quite  happy,  —  quite  happy. 
Why  not  ?  " 

A  low  murmur  from  the  men  made  them  look  up.  They  were 
near  enough  to  the  town  to  hear,  —  only  too  much.  They  heard 
the  tramp  of  msn,  shouts  and  yells.  Then  the  shrill  cries  of 
women.  All  dull  and  muffled  the  sounds  came  to  them  through 
the  still  night ;  and  they  lay  there  spell-bound,  as  in  a  nightmare, 
as  men  assisting  at  some  horrible  tragedy,  which  they  had  no 
power  to  prevent.  Then  there  was  a  glare,  and  a  wisp  of  smoke 
against  the  black  sky,  and  then  a  house  began  burning  brightly, 
and  then  another. 

"  This  is  the  Frenchman's  faith  !  " 

And  all  the  while,  as  the  sack  raged  in  the  town  below,  the 
minster  stood  above,  dark,  !=ilent,  and  safe.  The  church  had 
provided  for  herself,  by  sacrificing  the  children  beneath  her  fos- 
tering shadow. 

They  waited  nearly  an  hour:  but  no  fugitives  came  out. 

"  Come,  men,"  said  Hereward,  wearily,  "  we  may  as  well  to 
the  boats." 

And  so  they  went,  walking  on  like  men  in  a  dream,  as  yet  too 
stunned  to  realize  to  them-elves  the  hopeless  horror  of  their  situ- 
ation. Only  Hereward  and  Torfrida  saw  it  all,  looking  back  on 
the  splendid  past,  —  the  splendid  hopes  for  the  future :  glory, 
honor,  an  earldom,  a  free  Danish  England, — and  this  was  all 
that  was  left ! 

"  No  it  is  not ! "  cried  Torfrida  suddenly,  as  if  answering  her 
own  unspoken  thoughts,  and  his.  "  Love  is  still  left.  The  gal- 
lows and  the  stake  cannot  take  that  away."  And  she  clung  closer 
to  her  husband's  side,  and  he  again  to  hers. 

They  reached  the  shore,  and  told  their  tale  to  their  comrades. 
Whither  now? 

"  To  Well.     To  the  wide  mere,"  said  Hereward. 

"  But  their  ships  will  hunt  us  out  there." 

"  We  shall  need  no  hunting.  We  must  pick  up  the  men  at 
Cisshara.  You  would  not  leave  them  to  be  murdered,  too,  as  we 
have  left  the  Ely  men  ?  " 

No.     They  would  go  to  Well.     And  then  ? 

"  The  Bruneswald,  and  the  merry  greenwood,"  said  Hereward. 

"  Hey  for  the  merry  greenwood !  "  shouted  Leofric  the  Deacon. 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH.  311 

And  the  men,  in  the  sudden  dehght  of  finding  any  place,  any 
purpose,  answered  with  a  lusty  cheer. 

"  Brave  hearts,"  said  Here  ward.  "  We  will  live  and  die  to- 
getlier  like  Englishmen." 

"  We  will,  we  will.  Viking." 

"  Where  shall  we  stow  the  mare  ? "  asked  Geri,  "  the  boats 
are  full  already." 

"  Leave  her  to  me.     On  board,  Torfrida." 

He  got  on  board  last,  leading  the  mare  by  the  bridle. 

"  Swim,  good  lass  ! "  said  he,  as  they  pushed  off;  and  the  good 
lass,  who  had  done  it  many  a  time  before,  waded  in,  and  was  soon 
swimming  behind.  Hereward  turned,  and  bent  over  the  side  in 
the  darkness.  There  was  a  strange  gurgle,  a  splash,  and  a  swirl. 
He  turned  round,  and  sat  upright  again.     They  rowed  on. 

"  That  mare  will  never  swim  all  the  way  to  Well,"  said 
one. 

"  She  will  not  need  it,"  said  Plerevvard. 

"  Why,"  cried  Torfrida,  feeling  in  the  darkness,  "  she  is  loose. 
What  is  this  in  your  hand  ?     Your  dagger !     And  wet !  " 

"  Mare  Swallow  is  at  the  bottom  of  the  reach.  We  could  never 
have  got  her  to  Well." 

"  And  you  have  —  "  cried  a  dozen  voices. 

"Do  you  think  that  I  would  let  a  cursed  Frenchman  —  ay, 
even  William's  self — say  that  he  had  bestridden  Here  ward's 
mare  ?  " 

None  answered :  but  Torfrida,  as  she  laid  her  head  upon  her 
husband's  bosom,  felt  the  great  tears  running  down  from  his  cheek 
on  to  her  own. 

None  spoke  a  word.  The  men  were  awe-stricken.  There 
was  something  despairing  and  ill-omened  in  the  deed.  And  yet 
there  was  a  savage  grandeur  in  it,  which  bound  their  savage 
hearts  still  closer  to  their  chief. 

And  so  mare  Swallow's  bones  lie  somewhere  in  the  peat  unto 
this  day. 

They  got  to  Well ;  they  sent  out  spies  to  find  the  men  who  had 
been  "  wasting  Cissham  with  fire  and  sword  "  ;  and  at  last  brought 
them  in.  Ill  news,  as  usual,  had  travelled  fast.  They  had  heard 
of  the  fall  of  Ely,  and  hidden  themselves  "  in  a  certain  very  small 
island  which  is  called  Stimtench,"  where,  thinking  that  the  friends 
in  search  of  them  were  Frenchmen  in  pursuit,  they  hid  them- 
selves among  the  high  reeds.  There  two  of  them  —  one  Stark- 
wolf  by  name,  the  other  Broher  —  hiding  near  each  other, 
*'  thought  that,  as  they  were  monks,  it  might  conduce  to  their 
safety  if  they  had  shaven  crowns ;  and  set  to  work  with  their 
swords  to  shave  each  other's  heads  as  well  as  they  could.    But  at 


312      HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

last,  by  their  war-cries  and  their  speech,  recognizing  each  other, 
they  left  off  fighting,"  and  went  after  Hereward. 

So  jokes,  grimly  enough,  Leofric  the  Deacon,  who  must  have 
seen  them  come  in  the  next  morning,  with  bleeding  coxcombs, 
and  could  laugh  over  the  thing  in  after  years.  But  he  was  in  no 
humor  for  jesting  in  the  days  in  which  they  lay  at  Well.  Nor 
was  he  in  jesting  humor  when,  a  week  afterwards,  hunted  by  the 
Normans  from  Well,  and  forced  too  take  to  meres  and  waterways 
known  only  to  them,  and  too  shallow  and  narrow  for  the  Norman 
ships,  they  found  their  way  across  into  the  old  Nen,  and  so  by 
Thorney  on  toward  Crowland,  leaving  Peterborough  far  on  the 
left.  For  as  they  neai-ed  Crowland,  they  saw  before  them,  rowing 
slowly,  a  barge  full  of  men.  And  as  they  neared  that  barge,  be- 
hold, all  they  who  rowed  were  blind  of  both  their  eyes;  and 
all  ihey  wlio  sat  and  guided  them  were  maimed  of  both  their 
hand<.  And  as  they  came  alongside,  there  was  not  a  man  in  all 
that  ghastly  crew  but  was  an  ancient  friend,  by  whose  side  they  had 
fought  full  many  a  day,  and  witli  whom  they  had  drunk  deep  full 
many  a  night.  They  were  the  first-fruits  of  William's  ven- 
geance ;  thrust  into  that  boat,  to  tell  the  rest  of  the  fen-men  what 
those  had  to  expect  who  dared  oppose  the  Norman.  And  they 
were  going,  by  some  by-stream,  to  Crowland,  to  the  sanctuary  of 
the  Danish  fen-men,  that  they  might  cast  themselves  down  before 
St.  Guthlac,  and  ask  of  him  that  mercy  for  their  souls  which  the 
conqueror  had  denied  to  their  bodies.  Alas  for  them !  tliey  were 
but  a  handful  among  hundreds,  perhaps  thousands,  of  mutilated 
crij^ides,  who  swarmed  all  over  England,  and  especially  in  the 
north  and  east,  throughout  the  reign  of  the  Norman  conqueror. 
They  told  their  comrades'  fate,  slaughtered  in  the  first  attack,  or 
hanged  afterwards  as  rebels  and  traitors  to  a  foreigner  whom  they 
had  never  seen,  and  to  whom  they  owed  no  fealty  by  law  of  God 
or  man. 

"  And  Ranald  Sigtrygsson  ■' " 

None  knew  aught  of  him.  He  never  got  home  again  to  his 
Irish  princess. 

"  And  the  poor  women  ?  "  asked  Torfrida. 

But  she  received  no  answer. 

And  the  men  swore  a  great  oath,  and  kept  it,  never  to  give 
quarter  to  a  Norman,  as  long  as  there  was  one  left  on  English 
ground. 

Neither  were  the  monks  of  Ely  in  jesting  humor,  when  they 
came  to  count  up  the  price  of  their  own  baseness.  They  had 
(as  was  in  that  day  the  cant  of  all  cowardly  English  churchmen, 
as  well  as  of  the  more  crafty  Normans)  "  obeyed  the  apostolic 
injunction,  to  submit  to  the  powers  that  be,  because  they  are  or- 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  313 

dained,"  &c.  But  they  found  the  hand  of  the  powers  that  be  a 
very  heavy  one.  Forty  knighls  were  billeted  on  them  at  free 
quarters  with  all  their  men.  Every  morning  the  butler  had  to 
distribute  to  them  food  and  pay  in  the  great  hall ;  and  in  vain 
were  their  complaints  of  bad  faith.  Wdliam  meanwhile,  who 
loved  money  as  well  as  he  "  loved  the  tall  deer,"  had  had  1,000 
(another  says  700)  marks  of  them  as  the  price  of  their  church's 
safety,  for  the  payment  whereof,  if  one  authority  is  to  be  trusted, 
they  sold  "  all  the  furniture  of  gold  and  silver,  crosses,  altars, 
coffers,  covers,  chalices,  platters,  ewers,  urnets,  basons,  cups,  and 
saucers."  Nay,  the  idols  themselves  were  not  spared,  "  for,"  be- 
side that,  "  they  sold  a  goodly  image  of  our  Lady  with  her  little 
Son,  in  a  throne  wrought  with  marvellous  workmanship,  which 
El^egus  the  abbot  had  made.  Likewise,  they  stripped  many  im- 
ages of  holy  virgins  of  much  furniture  of  gold  and  silver."  *  So 
that  poor  St.  Etheldreda  had  no  finery  in  which  to  appear  on  fes- 
tivals, and  went  in  russet  for  many  years  after.  The  which 
money  (according  to  another  f)  they  took,  as  they  had  promised, 
to  Picot  the  Viscount  at  Cambridge.  He  weighed  the  money ; 
and  finding  it  an  ounce  short,  accused  them  of  cheating  the  King, 
and  sentenced  them  to  pay  300  marks  more.  After  which  the 
royal  commissioners  came,  plundered  the  abbey  of  all  that  was 
left,  and  took  away  likewise  "  a  great  mass  of  gold  and  silver 
found  in  Wentworth,  wherewith  the  brethren  meant  to  repair 
the  altar  vessels  " ;  and  also  a  "  notable  cope  which  Archbishop 
Stigand  gave,  which  the  church  hath  wanted  to  this  day." 

Thurstan,  the  traitor  Abbot,  died  in  a  few  months.  Egelwin, 
the  Bishop  of  Durham,  was  taken  in  the  abbey.  He  was  a 
bishop,  and  they  dared  not  kill  him.  But  he  was  a  patriot,  and 
must  have  no  mercy.  They  accused  him  of  stealing  the  treasures 
of  Durham,  which  he  had  brought  to  Ely  tor  the  service  of  his 
country  ;  and  shut  him  up  in  Abingdon.  A  few  months  after,  tlie 
brave  man  was  found  starved  and  dead,  "  whether  of  his  own  will 
or  enforced  "  ;  and  so  ended  another  patriot  prelate.  But  we  do 
not  read  that  the  Normans  gave  back  the  treasure  to  Durham. 
And  so,  yielding  an  iinmi;n>e  mass  of  booty,  and  many  a  fair 
woman,  as  the  Norman's  prey,  ended  the  Camp  of  Refuge,  and 
the  glory  of  the  Isle  of  P^ly. 

*  These  details  are  from  a  story  found  in  the  Isle  of  Ely,  published  by  Dr. 
Giles.  It  seems  a  late  composition,  —  probably  of  the  sixteenth  century,  —  and 
liiis  manifest  errors  of  fact;  but  valeat  quantum. 

t  Stow'ii  "  Annals." 


14 


CHAPTER    XXXIY. 

HOW  HEREWARD   WENT   TO  THE   GREENWOOD. 

And  now  is  Hereward  ta  the  greenwood  gone,  to  be  a  bold 
outlaw ;  and  not  only  an  outlaw  himself,  but  the  father  of  all  out- 
laws, who  held  those  forests  for  two  hundred  years,  from  the  fens 
to  the  Scottish  border.  Utlages,  forestiers,  latrunculi  (robberlets), 
sicarii,  cutthroats,  sauvages,  who  prided  themselves  upon  sleep- 
ing on  the  bare  ground ;  they  were  accursed  by  the  conquerors, 
and  beloved  by  the  conquered.  The  Norman  viscount  or  sheriff 
commanded  to  hunt  them  from  hundred  to  hundred,  with  hue  and 
cry,  horse  and  bloodhound.  The  English  yeoman  left  for  them  a 
keg  of  ale.  or  a  basket  of  loaves,  beneath  the  hollins  green,  as 
sauce  for  their  meal  of  "  nombles  of  the  dere." 

"  For  hart  and  hind,  and  doe  and  roe, 
Were  in  that  forest  great  plentie," 

"  Swannes  and  fesauntes  they  had  full  good 
And  foules  of  tlie  rivere. 
There  fayled  never  so  lytell  a  byrde, 
That  ever  was  bred  on  brere." 

With  the  same  friendly  yeoman  "  that  was  a  good  felawe," 
they  would  lodge  by  twos  and  threes  during  the  sharp  frosts 
of  midwinter,  in  the  lonely  farm-house  which  stood  in  the  "  field  " 
or  fore^it-clearing ;  but  for  the  greater  part  of  the  year  their 
''  lodging  was  on  the  cold  ground  "  in  the  holly  thickets,  or  under 
the  hanging  rock,  or  in  a  lodge  of  boughs. 

And  then,  after  a  while,  the  life  which  began  in  terror,  and 
despair,  and  poverty,  and  loss  of  laud  and  kin,  became  not  only 
tolerable,  but  pleasant.  Bold  men  and  hardy,  they  cared  less  and 
less  for 

''  The  thornie  wayes,  the  deep  valleys, 

The  snowe,  the  frost,  the  rayne, 

The  colde,  the  hete  ;  for  dry  or  wete 

We  must  lodge  on  the  plaine, 

And  us  above,  none  other  roofe, 

But  a  brake  bushe,  or  twayne." 

And  they  found  fair  lasses,  too,  in  time,  who,  like  Torfrida  and 
Maid  Marian,  would  answer  to  their  warnings  against  the  outlaw 
life,  with  the  nut-browue  maid,  that  — 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  315 

"  Amonge  the  wylde  dere,  such  an  archere 

As  men  say  that  ye  be, 
He  may  not  fayle  of  good  intayle 

Where  is  so  great  plente  : 
And  water  clere  of  the  rivere, 

Shall  be  full  swete  to  me, 
With  which  in  hele,  I  shall  right  wele, 

Endure,  as  ye  may  see." 

Then  called  they  themselves  "  merry  men,"  and  the  forest  the 
"merry  greenwood";  and  sang,  with  Robin  Hood, — 

"  A  merrier  man  than  I,  belyye 
There  lives  not  in  Christentie." 

They  were  coaxed  back,  at  times,  to  civilized  life ;  they  got 
their  grace  of  the  king,  and  entered  the  king's  service ;  but  the 
craving  after  the  greenwood  was  upon  them.  They  dreaded  and 
hated  the  four  stone  walls  of  a  Norman  castle,  and,  like  Robin 
Hood,  slipt  back  to  the  forest  and  the  deer. 

Gradually,  too,  law  and  order  rose  among  them,  lawless  as  they 
were ;  the  instinct  of  discipline  and  self-government,  side  by  side 
with  that  of  personal  independence,  which  is  the  peculiar  mark 
and  peculiar  strength  of  the  English  character.  Who  knows  not 
how,  in  the  "  Lytell  Geste  of  Robin  Hood,"  they  shot  at  "  pluck- 
buffet,"  the  king  among  them,  disguised  as  an  abbot ;  and  every 
man  who  missed  the  rose-garland,  "  his  tackle  he  should  tyne  "  ;  — 

"  And  bere  a  buffet  on  his  head, 
I  wys  rvght  all  bare, 
And  all  that  fell  on  Robyn's  lote, 
He  smote  them  wonder  sair. 

"  Till  Robyn  fayled  of  the  garlonde, 
Three  fyngers  and  mair." 

Then  good  Gilbert  bids  him  in  his  turn 

"  '  Stand  forth  and  take  his  pay.' 

" '  If  it  be  so,'  sayd  Robyn, 
'  That  may  no  better  be, 
Syr  Abbot,  1  delyver  thee  myn  arrowe, 
I  pray  thee,  Syr,  serve  thou  me.' 

" '  It  falleth  not  for  myne  order,'  saith  our  kynge, 
'  Robyn,  by  thy  leve. 
For  to  smyte  no  good  yeman, 
For  doute  I  should  hym  grave.' 

"  '  Smyte  on  boldly,'  sayd  Robyn, 
'  I  give  thee  large  leve.' 
Anon  our  kynge,  with  that  word, 
He  folde  up  his  sieve. 

"  And  such  a  buffet  he  gave  Robyn, 

To  grounde  he  yode  full  nere. 

'  I  make  myn  avowe,'  sayd  Robyn, 

'  Thou  art  a  stalwarts  frere. 


316  HERE  WARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

" '  There  is  pyth  in  thyn  arme,'  sayd  Robyn, 
'  I  trowe  thou  canst  well  shoote.' 
Thus  our  kynge  and  Robyn  Hode 
Together  they  are  met." 

Hard  knocks  in  good  humor,  strict  rules,  fair  play,  and  equal 
justice,  for  high  and  low  ;  this  was  the  old  outlaw  spirit,  which 
has  descended  to  their  inlawed  descendants ;  and  makes,  to  this 
day,  the  life  and  marrow  of  an  English  public  school. 

One  fixed  idea  the  outlaw  had,  —  hatred  of  the  invader.  If 
"his  herde  were  the  king's  deer,"  "his  treasure  was  the  earl's 
purse  " ;  and  still  oftener  the  purse  of  the  foreign  churchman, 
Norman  or  Italian,  who  had  expelled  the  outlaw's  English  cous- 
ins from  their  convents ;  shamefully  scourged  and  cruelly  im- 
prisoned them,  as  the  blessed  Archbishop  Lanfranc  did  at  Can- 
terbury, because  they  would  not  own  allegiance  to  a  French 
abbot ;  or  murdered  them  at  the  high  altar,  as  did  the  new  abbot 
of  Glastonbury,  because  they  would  not  change  their  old  Gre- 
gorian chant  for  that  of  William  of  Fescamp.* 

On  these  mitred  tyrants  the  outlaw  had  no  mercy,  as  far  as 
their  purses  were  concerned.  Tlieir  persons,  as  consecrated, 
were  even  to  him  sacred  and  inviolable,  —  at  least,  from  wounds 
and  death  ;  and  one  may  suppose  Here  ward  himself  to  have 
been  the  first  author  of  the  laws  afterward  attributed  to  Robin 
Hood.  As  for  "  robbing  and  reving,  beling  and  bynding,"  free 
warren  was  allowed  against  the  Norman. 

"  '  Thereof  no  foors,'  said  Robyn, 
'  We  shall  do  well  enow. 
But  look  ye  do  no  housbonde  harme, 
That  tiileth  wyth  his  plough. 

" '  No  more  ye  shall  no  good  yeman, 
That  walketh  by  grene  wood  shawe; 
Ne  no  knyght,  ne  no  squyer,  ^ 

That  will  be  good  felawe. 

"  '  These  bysshoppes,  and  these  archbysshoppes, 
Ye  shall  them  bete  and  binde; 
The  hye  sheryff  of  Nottingham, 
Hym  holde  in  your  mynde.' 

"  Robyn  loved  our  dere  Ladye. 
For  doubt  of  dedely  synne, 
Wolde  he  never  do  company  harme 
That  anj'  woman  was  ynne." 

And  even  so  it  was  with  Hereward  in  the  Bruneswald,  if  the 
old  chroniclers,  Leofric  especially,  are  to  be  believed. 

And  now  Torfrida  was  astonished.  She  had  given  way 
utterly  at   Ely,   from   woman's    fear,   and    woman's   disappoint- 

*  See  the  Anglo-Saxon  Chronicle. 


HEREWAED,   THE  LAST   OF   THE   ENGLISH.  317 

nent.  All  was  over.  All  was  lost.  "What  was  left,  save  to 
lie? 

But  —  and  it  was  a  new  and  unexpected  fact  to  one  of  her 
excitable  Southern  blood,  easily  raised,  and  ea^iily  depressed  — 
she  discovered  that  neither  her  husband,  nor  Winter,  nor  Geri, 
nor  Wenoch,  nor  Ranald  of  Ramsey,  nor  even  the  romancing 
harping  Leofric,  thought  that  all  was  lost.  She  argued  it  with 
them,  not  to  persuade  them  into  base  submission,  but  to  satisfy 
her  own  surprise. 

"But  what  will  you  do?" 

"  Live  in  the  greenwood." 

"  And  what  then  ?  " 

"Burn  every  town  which  a  Frenchman  holds,  and  kill  every 
Frenchman  we  meet." 

"  But  wliat  plan  have  you  ?  " 

"  Who  wants  a  plan,  as  you  call  it,  while  he  has  the  green 
hollies  overhead,  the  dun  deer  on  the  lawn,  bow  in  his  hand, 
and  sword  by  his  side  ?  " 

"  But  what  will  be  the  end  of  it  all  ?  " 

"  We  shall  live  till  we  die." 

"But  William  is  master  of  all  England." 

"  What  is  that  to  us  ?     He  is  not  our  master." 

"  But  he  must  be  some  day.  You  will  grow  fewer  and  fewer. 
His  government  will  grow  stronger  and  stronger." 

"What  is  that  to  us?  When  we  are  dead,  there  will  be 
brave  yeomen  in  plenty  to  take  our  place.  You  would  not 
turn    traitor  ?  " 

"  I  ?  never !  never !  I  will  live  and  die  with  you  in  your 
greenwood,  as  you  call  it.  Only  —  I  did  not  understand  you 
English." 

Torfrida  did  not.  She  was  discovering  the  fact,  which  her 
nation  have  more  than  once  discovered  since,  that  the  stupid 
valor  of  the  Englishman  never  knows  when  it  is  beaten  ;  and 
sometimes,  by  that  self-satisfied  ignorance,  succeeds  in  not  being 
beaten  after  all. 

So  Hereward  —  if  the  chronicles  speak  truth  —  assembled  a 
formidable  force,  wellnigh,  at  last,  four  hundred  men.  Winter, 
Geri,  Wenoch,  Grogan,  one  of  the  Azers  of  Lincoln,  were  still 
with  him.  Ranald  the  butler  still  carried  his  standard.  Of 
Duti  and  Outi,  the  famous  brothers,  no  more  is  heard.  A 
valiant  Matelgar  takes  their  place ;  Alfric  and  Sexwold  and 
many  another  gallant  fugitive  cast  up,  liite  scattered  hounds, 
at  the  sound  of  "  The  Wake's  "  war-horn.  There  were  those 
among  them  (says  Gaimar)  who  scorned  to  fight  single-handed 
less  than  three  Normans.  As  for  Hereward,  he  would  fight 
leven. 


318  HEREWARD,   THE   LAST   OF   THE   ENGLISH. 

"  Les  qwatre  oscist,  les  treis  fuirent; 
>iafFrez,  sanglant,  cil  s'en  partirent 
En  pliisurs  lius  issi  avrit, 
K'enenntre  seit  tr^s  bien  se  tuit 
De  seit  homines  avait  vertu, 
Un  plus  hardi  ne  fu  veu." 

They  ranged  up  the  Bruneswald,  dashing  out  to  the  war-cry 
of  "  A  Wake  !  a  Wake  ! "  laying  all  waste  with  fire  and  sword, 
that  is,  such  towns  as  were  in  the  hands  of  Normans.  And  a  no- 
ble range  they  must  have  had  for  gallant  sportsmen.  Away  south, 
between  the  Nene  and  Welland,  stretched  from  Stamford  and 
Peterborough  the  still  vast  forests  of  Rockingham,  nigh  twenty 
miles  in  length  as  the  crow  flies,  down  beyond  Rockingham  town, 
and  Geddington  Chase.  To  the  west,  they  had  the  range  of  the 
''  hunting  counties,"  dotted  still,  in  the  more  eastern  part,  with  in- 
numerable copses  and  shaughs,  the  remnants  of  the  great  forest, 
out  of  which,  as  out  of  Rockinghamshire,  have  been  cut  those  fair 
parks  and 

"Handsome  houses, 
Where  the  wealthy  nobles  dwell"; 

past  which  the  Lord  of  Burleigh  led  hi?  Welsh  bride  to  that 
Burghley  House  by  Stamford  town,  wellnigh  the  noblest  of  them 
all,  which  was,  in  Hereward's  time,  deep  wood,  and  freestone 
down.  Round  Exton,  and  Normanton,  and  that  other  Burley  on 
the  Hill ;  on  through  those  Morkery  woods,  which  still  retain  the 
name  of  Hereward's  ill-fated  nephew  ;  north  by  Irnham  and  Cor- 
by ;  on  to  Belton  and  Syston  (par  nobile),  and  southwest  again 
to  those  still  wooded  heights,  whence  all-but-royal  Bel  voir  looks 
out  over  the  rich  green  vale  below,  did  Hereward  and  his  men 
range  far  and  wide,  harrying  the  Frenchman,  and  hunting  the 
dun  deer.  Stags  there  were  in  plenty.  There  remain  to  this 
day,  in  Grimsthorpe  Park  by  Bourne,  the  descendants  of  the 
very  deer  which  Earl  Leofric  and  Earl  Algar,  and  after  them 
Hereward  the  outlaw,  hunted  in  the  Bruneswald. 

Deep-tangled  forest  filled  the  lower  claylands,  swarming  with 
pheasant,  roe,  badger,  and  more  wolves  than  were  needed.  Bro- 
ken, park-like  glades  covered  the  upper  freestones,  where  the 
red  deer  came  out  from  harbor  for  their  evening  graze,  and  the 
partridges  and  plovers  whirred  up,  and  the  hares  and  rabbits  loped 
away,  innumerable  ;  and  where  hollies  and  ferns  always  gave  dry 
lying  for  the  night.  What  did  men  need  more,  whose  bodies 
were  as  stout  as  their  hearts  ? 

They  were  poachers  and  robbers ;  and  why  not  ?  The  deer 
had  once  been  theirs,  the  game,  the  land,  the  serfs ;  and  if  Godric 
of  Corby  slew  the  Irnham  deer,  burned  Imham  Hall  over  the 


HERE  WARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  319 

head  of  the  new  Norman  lord,  and  thought  no  harm,  he  did  but 
what  he  would  with  that  which  had  been  once  his  own. 

Easy  it  was  to  dash  out  by  night  and  make  a  raid ;  to  harry 
the  places  which  they  once  had  owned  themselves,  in  the  vale  of 
Belvoir  to  the  west,  or  to  the  east  in  the  strip  of  fertile  land 
wliich  sloped  down  into  the  fen,  and  levy  black-mail  in  Ripping- 
hale,  or  Folkingham,  or  Aslackby,  or  Sleaford,  or  any  other  of 
the  "  Vills  "  (now  thriving  villages)  which  still  remain  in  Domes- 
day-book, and  written  against  them  the  ugly  and  significant,  — 

"InTatenai  habuerunt  Turgisle  et  Suen  IIII.  Carrucoe  trse," 
&c.  "  Hoc  Ivo  Taillebosc  ibi  habet  in  dominio,"  —  all,  that  is, 
that  the  wars  had  left  of  them. 

The  said  Turgisle  (Torkill  or  Turketil  misspelt  by  French- 
men) and  Sweyn,  and  many  a  good  man  more,  —  for  Ivo's  pos- 
sessions were  enormous,  —  were  thorns  in  the  sides  of  Ivo  and 
his  men  which  must  be  extracted,  and  the  Bruneswald  a  nest  of 
hornets,  which  must  be  smoked  out  at  any  cost. 

Wherefore  it  befell,  that  once  upon  a  day  there  came  riding  to 
Hereward  in  the  Bruneswald  a  horseman  all  alone. 

And  meeting  with  Hereward  and  his  men  he  made  signs  of 
amity,  and  bowed  himself  low,  and  pulled  out  of  his  purse  a  let- 
ter, protesting  that  he  was  an  Englishman  and  a  "  good  felawe," 
and  that,  though  he  came  from  Lincoln  town,  a  friend  to  the 
English  had  sent  him. 

That  was  believable  enough,  for  Hereward  had  his  friends 
and  his  spies  far  and  wide. 

And  when  he  opened  the  letter,  and  looked  first,  hke  a  wary 
man,  at  the  signature,  a  sudden  thrill  went  through  him. 

It  was  Alftruda's. 

If  he  was  intere-ted  in  her,  considering  what  had  passed  be- 
tween them  from  her  childhood,  it  was  nothing  to  be  ashamed 
of.  And  yet  somehow  he  felt  ashamed  of  that  same  sudden 
thrill. 

And  Hereward  had  reason  to  be  ashamed.  He  had  been 
faithful  to  Torfrida,  —  a  virtue  most  rare  in  those  days.  Few 
were  faithful  then,  save,  it  may  be,  Baldwin  of  Mons  to  his  tyrant 
and  idol,  the  sorceress  Richilda ;  and  William  of  Normandy,  — 
whatever  were  his  other  sins,  —  to  his  wise  and  sweet  and  beau- 
tiful Matilda.  The  stories  of  his  coldness  and  cruelty  to  her 
seem  to  rest  on  no  foundation.  One  need  believe  them  as  little 
as  one  does  the  myth  of  one  chronicler,  that  when  she  tried  to 
stop  him  from  some  expedition,  and  clung  to  him  as  he  sat  upon 
his  horse,  he  smote  his  spur  so  deep  into  her  breast  that  she  fell 
dead.  The  man  had  self-control,  and  feared  God  in  his  own  wild 
way,  —  therefore  it  was,  perhaps,  that  he  conquered. 


320  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

And  Hereward  had  been  faithful  hkewise  to  Torfrida,  and 
loved  her  with  an  overwhelming  adoration,  as  all  true  men  love. 
And  for  that  very  reason  he  was  the  more  aware  that  his  feel- 
ing for  Alftruda  was  strangely  like  bis  feeling  for  Torfrida,  and 
yet  strangely  different. 

There  was  nothing  in  the  letter  that  he  should  not  have  read. 
She  called  him  her  best  and  dearest  friend,  twice  the  savior  of 
her  life.  What  could  she  do  in  return,  but,  at  any  risk  to  herself, 
try  and  save  his  life  ?  The  Fi-ench  were  upon  him.  The  posse 
coniitatus  of  seven  counties  was  raising.  "  Noi'tharapton,  Cam- 
bridge, Lincoln,  Holland,  Leicester,  Huntingdon,  Warwick,"  were 
coming  to  the  Bruneswald  to  root  him  out. 

"  Lincoln  ?  "  thought  Hereward.  "  That  must  be  Gilbert  of 
Ghent,  and  Oger  the  Breton.  No !  Gilbert  is  not  coming.  Sir 
Ascelin  is  coming  for  him.  Holhmd?  That  is  my  friend  Ivo 
Taillebois.  Well,  we  shall  have  the  chance  of  paying  off  old 
scores.  Northampton  ?  The  earl  thereof  just  now  is  the  pious 
and  loyal  Waltheof,  as  he  is  of  Huntingdon  and  Cambridge.  Is  he 
going  to  join  young  Fitz-Osbern  from  Wairwick  and  Leicester,  to 
root  out  the  last  Englishman  ?  Why  not  ?  That  would  be  a 
deed  worthy  of  the  man  who  married  Judith,  and  believes  in  the 
powers  that  be,  and  eats  dirt  daily  at  William's  table." 

Tlien  he  read  on. 

Ascelin  had  been  mentioned,  he  remarked,  three  or  four  times 
in  the  letter,  which  was  long,  as  from  one  lingering  over  the 
paper,  wishing  to  say  more  than  she  dared.  At  the  end  was  a 
hint  of  the  reason  :  — 

"  O,  that  having  saved  me  twice,  you  could  save  me  once  more. 
Know  you  that  Gospatrick  has  been  driven  from  his  earldom  on 
charge  of  treason,  and  that  Wahheof  has  Northumbria  in  his  place, 
as  well  as  the  parts  round  you  ?  And  that  Gospatrick  is  fled  to 
Scotland  again,  with  his  sons,  —  my  man  among  them?  And 
now  the  report  comes,  that  my  man  is  slain  in  battle  on  the  Bor- 
der;  and  that  I  am  to  be  given  away,  —  as  I  have  been  given 
away  twice  before,  —  to  Ascelin.  This  I  know,  as  I  know  all,  not 
only  from  him  of  Ghent,  but  from  him  of  Peterborough,  Ascelin's 
uncle." 

Hereward  laughed  a  laugh  of  cynical  triumph,  —  pardonable 
enough  in  a  broken  man. 

"  Gospatrick  !  the  wittol !  the  woodcock  !  looking  at  the  springe, 
and  then  coolly  putting  his  head  therein.  Throwing  the  hatchet 
after  the  helve !  selling  his  soul  and  never  getting  the  price  of  it ! 
I  foresaw  it,  foretold  it,  I  believe  to  Alftruda  herself,  —  foretold 
that  he  would  not  keep  his  bought  earMom  three  years.  What  a 
people  we  are,  we  English,  if  Gospatrick  is,  —  as  he  is, — the 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.      321 

shrewdest  man  among  us,  with  a  dash  of  canny  Scots  blood  too. 
'  Among  the  one-eyed,  the  blind  is  king,'  says  Torfrida,  out  of  her 
wise  ancients,  and  blind  we  are,  if  he  is  our  best.  No.  There  is 
one  better  man  left  I  trust,  one  that  will  never  be  fool  enough  to 
put  his  head  into  the  wolf's  mouth,  and  trust  the  Norman,  and 
that  is  Hereward  the  outlaw." 

And  Hereward  boasted  to  himself,  at  Gospatrick's  expense,  of 
his  own  superior  wisdom,  till  his  eye  caught  a  line  or  two,  which 
finished  the  letter. 

"  O  that  you  would  change  your  mind,  much  as  I  honor  you 
for  it.  O  that  you  would  come  in  to  the  king,  who  loves  and 
trusts  you,  having  seen  your  constancy  and  faith,  proved  by  so 
many  years  of  affliction.  Great  things  are  open  to  you,  and  great 
joys ;  —  I  dare  not  tell  you  what :  but  I  know  them,  if  you  would 
come  in.  You,  to  waste  yourself  in  the  forest,  an  outlaw  and  a 
Bavage  !  Opportunity  once  lost,  never  returns ;  time  flies  fast, 
Hereward,  my  friend,  and  we  shall  all  grow  old,  —  I  think  at  times 
that  I  shall  soon  grow  old.  And  the  joys  of  life  will  be  impossi- 
ble, and  nothing  left  but  vain  regrets." 

"  Hey  ?  "  said  Hereward,  "  a  very  clerkly  letter.  I  did  not 
think  she  was  so  good  a  scholar.    Almost  as  good  a  one  as  Torfrida." 

That  was  all  he  said ;  and  as  for  thinking,  he  had  the  posse 
comitatus  of  seven  counties  to  think  of.  But  what  could  those 
great  fortunes  and  joys  be,  which  Alftruda  did  not  dare  to  de- 
scribe ? 

She  growing  old,  too?  Impossible,  that  was  woman's  vanity. 
It  was  but  two  years  since  she  was  as  fair  as  a  saint  in  a  window. 
*'  She  shall  not  marry  Ascelin.  I  will  cut  his  head  off.  She  shall 
have  her  own  choice  for  once,  poor  child." 

And  Hereward  found  himself  worked  up  to  a  great  height  of 
paternal  solicitude  for  Alftruda,  and  righteous  indignation  against 
Ascelin.  He  did  not  confess  to  himself  that  he  disliked  much,  in 
his  selfish  vanity,  the  notion  of  Alftruda's  marrying  any  one  at 
all.  He  did  not  want  to  marry  her  himself,  —  of  course  not. 
But  there  is  no  dog  in  the  manger  so  churlish  on  such  points  as  a 
vain  man.  There  are  those  who  will  not  willingly  let  their  own 
sisters,  their  own  daughters,  their  own  servants  marry.  Why 
should  a  woman  wish  to  marry  any  one  but  them  ? 

But  Hereward,  however  vain,  was  no  dreamer  or  sluggard. 
He  set  to  work,  joyfully,  cheerfully,  scenting  battle  afar  off,  like 
Job's  war-horse,  and  pawing  for  the  battle.  He  sent  back  Alf- 
truda's messenger,  with  this  answer :  — 

*'  Tell  your  lady  that  I  kiss  her  hands  and  feet.  That  I  cannot 
write,  for  outlaws  carry  no  pen  and  ink.  But  that  what  she  has 
commanded,  that  will  I  perform." 

U*  U 


322      HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

It  is  noteworthy,  that  when  Hereward  showed  Torfrlda  (which 
he  did  frankly)  Alftruda's  letter,  he  did  not  tell  her  the  exact 
•words  of  his  answer,  and  stumbled  and  varied  much,  vexing  her 
thereby,  when  she,  naturally,  wished  to  hear  them  word  for 
word. 

Then  he  sent  out  spies  to  the  four  airts  of  heaven.  And  his 
spies,  finding  a  friend  and  a  meal  in  every  hovel,  brought  home 
all  the  news  he  needed. 

He  withdrew  Torfrida  and  his  men  into  the  heart  of  the  forest, 
—  no  hint  of  the  place  is  given  by  the  chronicler,  —  cut  down 
trees,  formed  an  abattis  of  trunks  and  branches,  and  awaited  the 
enemy. 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

HOW  ABBOT   THOROLD  WAS  PUT   TO  RANSOM. 

Though  Hereward  had  as  yet  no  feud  against  "  Bysshopp« 
and  Archbysshoppes,"  save  Egelsin  of  Selsey,  who  had  excom- 
municated him,  but  who  was  at  the  other  end  of  England,  he 
had  feud,  as  may  be  supposed,  against  Thorold,  Abbot  of  Peter- 
borough, and  Thorold  feud  likewise  against  him.  Wlien  Thorold 
had  entered  the  "  Golden  Borough,"  hoping  to  fatten  himself  with 
all  its  treasures,  he  had  found  it  a  smoking  ruin,  and  its  treasures 
gone  to  Ely  to  pay  Sweyn  and  his  Danes.  And  such  a  "  sacri- 
lege," especially  when  he  was  the  loser  thereby,  was  the  unpar- 
donable sin  itself  in  the  eyes  of  Thorold,  as  he  hoped  it  might  be 
in  the  eyes  of  St.  Peter.  Joyfully  therefore  he  joined  his  friend 
Ivo  Taillebois,  when,  "with  his  usual  pompous  verbosity,"  saith 
Peter  of  Blois,  writing  on  this  very  matter,  he  asked  him  to  join 
in  destroying  Hereward. 

Nevertheless,  with  all  the  Norman  chivalry  at  their  back,  it 
behooved  them  to  move  with  caution  ;  for  (so  says  the  chronicler) 
"  Hereward  had  in  these  days  very  many  foreigners,  as  well  as 
landsfolk,  who  had  come  to  him  to  practise  and  learn  war,  and 
fled  from  their  masters  and  friends  when  they  heard  of  his  fame ; 
and  some  of  them  the  king's  courtiers,  who  had  come  to  see 
whether  those  things  which  they  heard  were  true,  whom  Here- 
ward nevertheless  received  cautiously,  on  plighted  troth  and 
oath." 

So  Ivo  Taillebois  summoned  all  his  men,  and  all  other  men's 
men  who  would  join  him,  and  rode  forth  through  Spalding  and 
Bourne,  having  announced  to  Lucia  his  bride  that  he  Avas  going 
to  slay  her  one  remaining  relative ;  and  when  she  wept,  cursed 
and  kicked  her,  as  he  did  once  a  week.  After  which  he  came 
to  Thorold  of  Peterborough. 

So  on  the  two  worthies  rode  from  Peterborough  to  Stamford, 
and  from  Stamford  into  the  wilderness,  no  man  knows  whither. 

"  And  far  they  rode  by  bush  and  shaugh, 
And  far  by  moss  and  mire,"  — 

but  never  found  a  track  of  Hereward  or  his  men.      And  Ivo 


324      HEKEWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

Taillebois  left  off  boasting  how  he  would  burn  Torfrida  over  a 
slow  fire,  and  confined  himself  to  cursing ;  and  Abbot  Thorold 
left  off  warbling  the  song  of  Roland  as  if  he  had  been  going  to 
a  second  battle  of  Hastings,  and  wished  himself  in  warm  bed  at 
Peterborough. 

But  at  the  last  they  struck  upon  a  great  horse-track,  and  fol- 
lowed it  at  their  best  pace  for  several  miles,  and  yet  no  sign  of 
Hereward. 

"  Catch  an  Englishman,"  quoth  the  abbot. 

But  that  was  not  so  easy.  The  poor  folk  had  hidden  them- 
selves, like  Israel  of  old,  in  thickets  and  dens  and  caves  of  rocks, 
at  the  far-off  sight  of  the  Norman  tyrants,  and  not  a  living  soul 
had  appeared  for  twenty  miles.  At  last  they  caught  a  ragged 
wretch  herding  swine,  and  haled  him  up  to  Ivo. 

"  Have  you  seen  Herewai'd,  villain  ? "  asked  he,  through  an 
interpreter. 

"  Nay." 

"  You  lie.  These  are  his  fresh  horse-tracks,  and  you  must 
have  seen  him  pass." 

"  Eh  ?  " 

"  Thrust  out  one  of  his  eyes,  and  he  will  find  his  tongue." 

It  was  done. 

"  Will  you  answer  now  ?  " 

The  poor  wretch  only  howled. 

"  Thrust  out  the  other." 

"  No,  not  that !  Mercy  :  I  will  tell.  He  is  gone  by  this  four 
hours.     How  have  you  not  met  him?" 

"  Fool !     The  hoofs  point  onward  there." 

"  Ay,"  —  and  the  fellow  could  hardly  hide  a  grin,  —  "  but  he 
had  shod  all  his  horses  backwards." 

A  storm  of  execration  followed.  They  might  be  thrown  twenty 
miles  out  of  their  right  road  by  the  stratagem. 

"  So  you  had  seen  Hereward,  and  would  not  tell.  Put  out  his 
other  eye,"  said  Taillebois,  as  a  vent  to  his  own  feelings. 

And  they  turned  their  horses'  heads,  and  rode  buck,  leaving 
the  man  blind  in  the  forest. 

The  day  was  waning  now.  The  fog  hung  heavy  on  the  tree- 
tops,  and  dripped  upon  their  heads.  The  horses  were  getting 
tired,  and  slipped  and  stumbled  in  the  deep  clay  paths.  The  foot- 
men were  more  tired  still,  and,  cold  and  hungry,  straggled  more 
and  more.  The  horse-tracks  led  over  an  open  lawn  of  grass  and 
fern,  with  here  and  there  an  ancient  thorn,  and  round  it  on  three 
sides  thick  wood  of  oak  and  beech,  with  under  copse  of  holly  and 
hazel.  Into  that  wood  the  horse-tracks  led,  by  a  path  on  which 
there  was  but  room  for  one  horse  at  a  time. 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  325 

"  Here  they  are  at  last !  "  cried  Ivo.  "  I  see  the  fresh  foot- 
marks of  men,  as  well  as  horses.  Push  on,  knights  and  men- 
at-arms." 

The  Abbot  looked  at  the  dark,  dripping  wood,  and  meditated. 

"  I  think  that  it  will  be  as  well  for  some  of  us  to  remain  here ; 
and,  spreading  our  men  along  the  woodside,  prevent  the  escape 
of  the  villains.     A  moi,  hommes  d'armes  !  " 

"  As  you  like.  I  will  go  in  and  bolt  the  rabbit ;  and  you  shall 
snap  him  up  as  he  comes  out." 

And  Ivo,  who  was  as  brave  as  a  bull-dog,  thrust  his  horse  into 
the  path,  while  the  Abbot  sat  shivering  outside.  "  Certain  nobles 
of  higher  rank,"  says  Peter  de  Blois,  "  followed  his  example,  not 
wishing  to  rust  their  armor,  or  tear  their  fine  clothes,  in  the  dank 
copse." 

The  knights  and  men-at-arms  straggled  slowly  into  the  forest, 
some  by  the  path,  some  elsewhere,  grumbling  audibly  at  the  black 
work  before  them.  At  last  the  crashing  of  the  branches  died 
away,  and  all  was  still. 

Abbot  Thorold  sat  there  upon  his  shivering  horse,  shivering 
himself  as  the  cold  pierced  through  his  wet  mail ;  and  as  near  an 
hour  past,  and  no  sign  of  foe  or  friend  appeared,  he  cursed  the 
hour  in  which  he  took  off  the  beautiful  garments  of  the  sanctuary 
to  endure  those  of  the  battle-field.  He  thought  of  a  warm  cham- 
ber, warm  bath,  warm  footcloths,  warm  pheasant,  and  warm  wine. 
He  kicked  his  freezing  iron  feet  in  the  freezing  iron  stirrup.  He 
tried  to  blow  his  nose  with  his  freezing  iron  hand ;  but  dropt  his 
handkerchief  into  the  mud,  and  his  horse  trod  on  it.  He  tried  to 
warble  the  song  of  Roland ;  but  the  words  exploded  in  a  cough 
and  a  sneeze.  And  so  dragged  on  the  weary  hours,  says  the 
chronicler,  nearly  all  day,  till  the  ninth  hour.  But  never  did 
they  see  coming  out  of   the  forest  the  men  who  had  gone  in. 

A  shout  from  his  nephew,  Sir  Ascelin,  made  all  turn  their 
heads.  Behind  them,  on  the  open  lawn,  in  the  throat  between 
the  woods  by  which  they  had  entered,  were  some  forty  knights, 
galloping  toward  them. 

"Ivo?" 

"  No !  "  almost  shrieked  the  Abbot.  "  There  is  the  white-bear 
banner.     It  is  Hereward." 

"  There  is  Winter  on  his  left,"  cried  one.  "  And  there,  with 
the  standard,  is  the  accursed  monk,  Ranald  of  Ramsey." 

And  on  they  came,  having  debouched  from  the  wood  some  two 
hundred  yards  off,  behind  a  roll  in  the  lawn,  just  far  enough  off 
to  charge  as  soon  as  they  were  in  line. 

On  they  came,  two  deep,  with  lances  high  over  their  shoulders, 
heads  and  heels  well  down,  while  the  green  tufts  flew  behind 


326  HEREWARD,   THE  LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH. 

them.  "  A  moi,  hommes  cTarmes  !  "  shouted  the  Abbot.  But 
too  late.  The  French  turned  right  and  left.  To  form  was  im- 
possible, ere  the  human  whirlwind  would  be  upon  them. 

Another  half-minute  and  with  a  shout  of  "  A  bear !  a  bear . 
The  Wake  !  the  Wake  !  "  they  were  struck,  ridden  through, 
hurled  over,  and  trampled  into  the  mud. 

"  I  yield.  Grace  !  1  yield  !  "  cried  Thorold,  struggling  from 
under  his  horse ;  but  there  was  no  one  to  whom  to  yield.  The 
knights'  backs  were  fifty  yards  off,  their  right  arms  high  in  the 
air,  striking  and  stabbing. 

The  battle  was  "  a  Voutrance"  There  was  no  quarter  given 
that  day. 

"  And  he  that  came  live  out  thereof 
Was  he  that  ran  away." 

The  Abbot  tried  to  make  for  the  wood,  but  ere  he  could  gain 
it,  the  knights  had  turned,  and  one  rode  straight  at  him,  throwing 
away  a  broken  lance,  and  drawing  his  sword. 

Abbot  Thorold  may  not  have  been  the  coward  which  Peter  of 
Blois  would  have  him,  over  and  above  being  the  bully  which  all 
men  would  have  him  ;  but  if  so,  even  a  worm  will  turn  ;  and  so 
did  the  Abbot :  he  drew  sword  from  thigh,  got  well  under  his 
shield,  his  left  foot  forward,  and  struck  one  blow  for  his  life,  and 
at  the  right  place,  —  his  foe's  bare  knee. 

But  he  had  to  do  with  a  warier  man  than  himself.  There  was 
a  quick  jerk  of  the  rein  ;  the  horse  swerved  round,  right  upon 
him,  and  knocked  him  head  over  heels ;  while  his  blow  went  into 
empty  air. 

"  Yield  or  die  !  "  cried  the  knight,  leaping  from  his  horse,  and 
kneeling  on  his  head. 

"  1  am  a  man  of  God,  an  abbot,  churchman,  Thorold." 

"  Man  of  all  the  devils  !  "  and  the  knight  lugged  him  up,  and 
bound  his  arms  behind  him  with  the  abbot's  own  belt. 

"  Ahoi !  Here  !  I  have  caught  a  fish.  1  have  got  the  Golden 
Borough  in  my  purse  !  "  roared  he.  "  How  much  has  St.  Peter 
gained  since  we  borrowed  of  him  last,  Abbot  ?  He  will  have  to 
pay  out  the  silver  pennies  bonnily,  if  he  wishes  to  get  back  thee." 

"  Blaspheme  not,  godless  barbarian  !  "  Whereat  the  knight 
kicked  him. 

"  And  you  have  Thorold  the  scoundrel.  Winter  ?  "  cried  Here- 
ward,  galloping  up.  "  And  we  have  three  or  four  more  dainty 
French  knights,  and  a  viscount  of  I  know  not  where  among  them. 
This  is  a  good  day's  work.     Now  for  Ivo  and  his  tail." 

And  the  Abbot,  with  four  or  five  more  prisoners,  were  hoisted 
on  to  their  own  horses,  tied  firmly,  and  led  away  into  the  forest 
path. 


HEBEWARD,   THE  LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH.  327 

"  Do  not  leave  a  wounded  man  to  die,"  cried  a  knight  who  lay 
on  the  lawn. 

"  Never  we.  I  will  come  back  and  put  you  out  of  your  pain," 
quoth  some  one. 

"  Siward  !  Siward  Le  Blanc  !  Are  you  in  this  meinie  ?  "  cried 
the  knight  in  French. 

"  That  am  I.     Who  calls  ?  " 

"  For  God's  sake  save  him  !  "  cried  Thorold.  "  He  is  my  own 
nephew,  and  I  will  pay  —  " 

"  You  will  need  all  your  money  for  yourself,"  said  Siward  the 
White,  riding  back. 

"  Are  you  Sir  Ascelin  of  Ghent  ?  " 

'*  That  am  I,  your  host  of  old." 

"  I  wish  I  had  met  you  in  better  company.  But  friends  we 
are,  and  friends  must  be." 

And  he  dismounted,  and  did  his  best  for  the  wounded  man, 
promising  to  return  and  fetch  him  oflf  before  night,  or  send  yeo- 
men to  do  so. 

Ae  he  pushed  on  through  the  wood,  the  Abbot  began  to  see 
signs  of  a  fight ;  riderless  horses  crashing  through  the  copse, 
wounded  men  straggling  back,  to  be  cut  down  without  mercy 
by  the  English.  The  war  had  been  "  a  Voutrance "  for  a  long 
wliile.  None  gave  or  asked  quarter.  The  knights  might  be 
kept  for  ransom :  they  had  money.  The  wretched  men  of  the 
lower  classes,  who  had  none,  were  slain  :  as  they  would  have 
slain  the  English. 

Soon  they  heard  the  noise  of  battle ;  and  saw  horsemen  and 
footmen  pellmell,  tangled  in  an  abattis,  from  behind  which  archers 
and  cross-bowmen  shot  them  down  in  safety. 

Hereward  dashed  forward,  with  the  shout  of  Torfrida ;  and  at 
that  the  French,  taken  in  the  flank,  fled,  and  were  smitten  as  they 
fled,  hip  and  thigh. 

Hereward  bade  them  spare  a  fugitive,  and  bring  him  to  him. 

"  I  give  you  your  life  ;  so  run,  and  carry  my  message.  That 
is  Taillebois's  banner  there  forward,  is  it  not?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  go  after  him,  and  tell  him,  —  Hereward  has  the  Abbot 
of  Burgh,  and  half  a  dozen  knights,  safe  by  the  heels.  And  unless 
Ivo  clears  the  wood  of  his  men  by  nightfall,  I  will  hang  every 
one  of  them  up  for  the  crows  before  morning." 

Ivo  got  the  message,  and  having  had  enough  fightir  g  for  the 
day,  drew  off*,  says  the  chronicler,  for  the  sake  of  the  Abbot  and 
his  fellow-captives. 

Two  hours  after  the  Abbot  and  the  other  prisoners  were  sit- 
ting, unbound,  but  unarmed,  in  the  forest  encampment,  waiting 


328  HEREWARD,   THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

for  a  right  good  meal,  with  Torfrida  bustling  about  them,  after 
binding  up  the  very  few  wounded  among  their  own  men. 

Every  courtesy  was  shown  them  ;  and  their  hearts  were  lifted 
up,  as  they  beheld  approaching  among  the  trees  great  caldrons 
of  good  soup ;  forest  salads  ;  red  deer  and  roe  roasted  on  the 
wood  embers  ;  spits  of  pheasants  and  partridges,  larks  and  bunt- 
ings, thrust  off  one  by  one  by  fair  hands  into  the  burdock  leaves 
whicli  served  as  platters  ;  and  last,  but  not  least,  jacks  of  ale  and 
wine,  appearing  mysteriously  from  a  cool  old  stone  quarry.  Abbot 
Thorold  ate  to  his  heart's  content,  complimented  every  one,  vowed 
he  would  forswear  all  Norman  cooks  and  take  to  the  greenwood 
himself,  and  was  as  gracious  and  courtly  as  if  he  had  been  at  the 
new  palace  at  Winchester. 

And  all  the  more  for  this  reason,  —  that  he  had  intended  to 
overawe  the  English  barbarians  by  his  polished  Norman  manners. 
He  found  those  of  Hereward  and  Torfrida,  at  least,  as  polished 
as  his  own. 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  content,  Lord  Abbot,"  said  Torfrida ;  "  I 
trust  you  prefer  dining  with  me  to  burning  me,  as  you  meant 
to  do." 

"  I  burn  such  peerless  beauty !  I  injure  a  form  made  only  for 
the  courts  of  kings !  Heaven  and  all  saints,  knighthood  and  all 
chivalry,  forbid.  What  Taillebois  may  have  said,  I  know  not ! 
I  am  no  more  answerable  for  his  intentions  than  I  am  for  his 
parentage,  —  or  his  success  this  day.  Let  churls  be  churls,  and 
wood-cutters  wood-cutters.  I  at  least,  thanks  to  my  ancestors, 
am  a  gentleman." 

"  And,  as  a  gentleman,  will  of  course  contribute  to  the  pleasure 
of  your  hosts.  It  will  surely  please  you  to  gratify  us  with  one 
stave  at  least  of  that  song,  which  has  made  your  name  famous 
among  all  knights,"  holding  out  a  harp. 

"  I  blush  :  but  obey.  A  harp  in  the  greenwood  ?  A  court  in 
the  wilderness !     What  joy  !  " 

And  the  vain  Abbot  took  the  harp,  and  said,  —  "  These,  if  you 
will  allow  my  modesty  to  choose,  are  the  staves  on  which  I  espe- 
cially pride  myself.  The  staves  which  Taillefer  —  you  will  par- 
don my  mentioning  him —  " 

"  Why  pardon  ?  A  noble  minstrel  he  was,  and  a  brave  warrior, 
though  our  foe.  And  often  have  I  longed  to  hear  him,  little 
thinking  that  I  should  hear  instead  the  maker  himself" 

So  said  Hereward  ;  and  the  Abbot  sang  —  those  wondrous 
staves,  where  Roland,  left  alone  of  all  the  Paladins,  finds  death 
come  on  him  fast.  And  on  the  Pyrengean  peak,  beneath  the 
pine,  he  lays  himself,  his  "  face  toward  the  ground,  and  under 
him  his  sword  and  magic  horn,  that  Charles,  his  lord,  may  say, 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.      329 

and  all  his  folk,  The  gentle  count,  he  died  a  conqueror  "  ;  and  then 
*' turns  his  eyes  southward  toward  Spain,  betakes  himself  to 
remember  many  things ;  of  so  many  lands  which  he  conquered 
valiantly ;  of  pleasant  France ;  of  the  men  of  his  lineage  ;  of 
Charlemagne,  his  lord,  who  brought  him  up.  He  could  not  help 
to  weep  and  sigh,  but  yet  himself  he  would  not  forget.  He  be- 
wailed his  sins,  and  prayed  God's  mercy :  —  True  Father,  who 
ne'er  yet  didst  lie,  who  raised  St.  Lazarus  from  death,  and 
guarded  Daniel  from  the  lions,  guard  my  soul  from  all  perils,  for 
the  sins  which  in  my  life  I  did  !  His  right  glove  then  he  offered 
to  God ;  St.  Gabriel  took  it  from  his  hand ;  on  his  arm  the  chief 
bowed  down,  with  joined  hands  he  went  unto  his  end.  God  sent 
down  his  angel  Cherubim  and  St.  Michael,  whom  men  call  '  del 
peril.'  Together  with  them,  St.  Gabriel,  he  came ;  the  soul  of 
the  count  they  bore  to  Paradise." 

And  the  Abbot  ended,  sadly  and  gently,  without  that  wild 
"  Aoi !  "  the  war-cry  with  which  he  usually  ends  his  staves.  And 
the  wild  men  of  the  woods  were  softened  and  saddened  by  the 
melody ;  and  as  many  as  understood  French,  said,  when  he  fin- 
ished, "  Amen !  so  may  all  good  knights  die  ! " 

"  Thou  art  a  great  maker.  Abbot !  They  told  truths  of  thee. 
Sing  us  more  of  thy  great  courtesy." 

And  he  sang  them  the  staves  of  the  Olifant,  the  magic  horn,  — 
how  Roland  would  not  sound  it  in  his  pride,  and  sounded  it  at 
Turpin's  bidding,  but  too  late ;  and  how  his  temples  burst  with 
that  great  blast,  and  Charles  and  all  his  peers  heard  it  through 
the  gorges,  leagues  away  in  France.  And  then  his  "  Aoi " 
rang  forth  so  loud  and  clear,  like  any  trumpet  blast,  under  the 
oaken  glades,  that  the  wild  men  leaped  to  their  feet,  and  shouted, 
"  Health  to  the  gleeman  !     Health  to  the  Abbot  Thorold  !  " 

"  I  have  won  them,"  thought  the  Abbot  to  himself.  Strange 
mixture  that  man  must  have  been,  if  all  which  is  told  of  him  is 
true ;  a  very  typical  Norman,  compact  of  cunning  and  ferocity, 
chivalry  and  poetry,  vanity  and  superstition,  and  yet  able  enough 
to  help  to  conquer  England  for  the  Pope. 

Then  he  pressed  Hereward  to  sing,  with  many  compliments ; 
and  Hereward  sang,  and  sang  again,  and  all  his  men  crowded 
round  him  as  the  outlaws  of  Judaea  may  have  crowded  round  Da- 
vid in  Carmel  or  Hebron,  to  hear,  like  children,  old  ditties  which 
they  loved  the  better  the  oftener  they  heard  them. 

"  No  wonder  that  you  can  keep  these  knights  together,  if  you 
can  charm  them  thus  with  song.  Would  that  I  could  hear  you 
singing  thus  in  William's  hall." 

"  No  more  of  that,  Sir  Abbot.  The  only  music  which  I  have 
for  William  is  the  music  of  steel  on  steel." 


330  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF   THE  ENGLISH. 

Hereward  answered  sharply,  because  he  was  half  of  Thorold's 
mind. 

'*  Now,"  said  Torfrida,  as  it  grew  late,  "  we  must  ask  our  noble 
guest  for  what  he  can  give  us  as  easily  and  well  as  he  can  song, 
—  and  that  is  news.  We  hear  naught  here  in  the  greenwood, 
and  must  tlirow  one's  self  on  the  kindness  of  a  chance  visitor." 

The  Abbot  leapt  at  the  bait,  and  told  them  news,  court  gossip, 
bringing  in  great  folks'  names  and  his  own,  as  often  and  as  fa- 
miliarly mingled  as  he  could. 

"  What  of  Richilda  ?  "  asked  Torfrida. 

"  Ever  since  young  Arnoul  was  killed  at  Cassel  —  " 

"  Arnoul  killed?"  shrieked  Torfrida. 

"  Is  it  possible  that  you  do  not  know  ?  " 

"  How  should  I  know,  shut  up  in  Ely  for  —  years  it  seems." 

"  But  they  fought  at  Cassel  three  months  before  you  went  to 
Ely." 

"  Be  it  so.     Only  tell  me.     Arnoul  killed  ! " 

Then  the  Abbot  told,  not  without  feeling,  a  fearful  story. 

Robert  the  Prison  and  Richilda  had  come  to  open  war,  and 
Gerbod  the  Fleming,  Earl  of  Clueter,  had  gone  over  from  Eng- 
land to  help  Robert.  William  had  sent  Fitz  Osbern,  Earl  of 
Hereford,  the  scourge  and  tyrant  of  the  Welsh,  to  help  Richilda. 
Fitz  Osbern  had  married  her,  there  and  then.  She  had  asked 
help  of  her  liege  lord,  the  King  of  France,  and  he  had  sent  her 
troops.  Robert  and  Richilda  had  fought  on  St.  Peter's  day, 
1071,  —  nearly  two  years  before,  at  Bavinchorum,  by  Cassel. 

Richilda  had  played  the  heroine,  and  routed  Robert's  left  wing, 
taken  him  prisoner,  and  sent  him  off  to  St.  Omer.  Men  said 
that  she  had  done  it  by  her  enchantments.  But  her  enchant- 
ments betrayed  her  nevertheless.  Fitz  Osbern,  her  bridegroom, 
fell  dead.  Young  Arnoul  had  two  horses  killed  under  him. 
Then  Gerbod  smote  him  to  the  ground,  and  Richilda  and  her 
troops  fled  in  horror.  Richilda  was  taken,  and  exchanged  for 
the  Prison ;  at  which  the  King  of  France,  being  enraged,  had 
come  down  and  burnt  St.  Omer.  Then  Richilda,  undaunted,  had 
raised  fresh  troops  to  avenge  her  son.  Then  Robert  had  met 
them  at  Broqueroie  by  Mons,  and  smote  them  with  a  dreadful 
slaughter.*  Then  Richilda  had  turned  and  fled  wildly  into  a 
convent;  and,  so  men  said,  tortured  herself  night  and  day  with 
fearful  penances,  if  by  any  means  she  might  atone  for  her  great 
sins. 

Torfrida  heard,  and  laid  her  head  upon  her  knees,  and  wept 
so  bitterly,  that  the  Abbot  entreated,  pardon  for  having  pained 
her  so  much. 

*  The  place  was  called  till  late,  and  may  be  now,  "  The  Hedges  of  Death." 


HERE  WARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  331 

The  news  had  a  deep  and  lasting  effect  on  her.  The  thought 
of  Richilda  shivering  and  starving  in  the  squalid  darkness  of  a 
convent,  abode  by  her  thenceforth.  Should  she  ever  find  herself 
atoning  in  like  wise  for  her  sorceries,  —  harmless  as  they  had 
been;  for  her  ambitions, — just  as  they  had  been;  for  her 
crimes  ?  But  she  had  committed  none.  No,  she  had  sinned  in 
many  things:  but  she  was  not  as  Richilda.  And  yet  in  the 
loneliness  and  sadness  of  the  forest,  she  could  not  put  Richilda 
from  before  the  eyes  of  her  mind. 

It  saddened  Hereward  likewise.  For  Richilda  he  cared  little. 
But  that  boy.  How  he  had  loved  him  !  How  he  had  taught 
him  to  ride,  and  sing,  and  joust,  and  handle  sword,  and  all  the 
art  of  war.  How  his  own  rough  soul  had  been  the  better  for 
that  love.  How  he  had  looked  forward  to  the  day  when  Arnoul 
should  be  a  great  prince,  and  requite  him  with  love.  Now  he 
was  gone.  Gone  ?  Who  was  not  gone,  or  going  ?  He  seemed 
to  himself  the  last  tree  in  the  forest.  When  should  his  time 
come,  and  the  lightning  strike  him  down  to  rot  beside  the  rest  ? 
But  he  tost  the  sad  thoughts  aside.  He  could  not  afford  to 
nourish  them.  It  was  his  only  chance  of  life,  to  be  merry  and 
desperate. 

"  Well !  "  said  Hereward,  ere  they  hapt  themselves  up  for  the 
night.  "  We  owe  you  thanks.  Abbot  Thorold,  for  an  evening 
worthy  of  a  king's  court,  rather  than  a  holly-bush." 

"  I  have  won  him  over,"  thought  the  Abbot. 

"  So  charming  a  courtier,  —  so  sweet  a  minstrel,  —  so  agree- 
able a  newsmonger,  —  could  I  keep  you  in  a  cage  forever,  and 
hang  you  on  a  bough,  I  were  but  too  happy :  but  you  are  too  fine 
a  bird  to  sing  in  captivity.  So  you  must  go,  I  fear,  and  leave 
us  to  the  nightingales.     And  I  will  take  for  your  ransom  —  " 

Abbot  Thorold's  heart  beat  high. 

"  Thirty  thousand  silver  mai'ks." 

"  Thirty  thousand  fiends  !  " 

"My  beau  Sire,  will  you  undervalue  yourself?  Will  you 
degrade  yourself?  I  took  Abbot  Thorold,  from  his  talk,  to  be  a 
man  who  set  even  a  higher  value  on  himself  than  other  men  t>et 
on  him.  What  higher  compliment  can  I  pay  to  your  vast  vvorlh, 
than  making  your  ransom  high  accordingly,  after  the  spirit  of 
our  ancient  English  laws  ?  Take  it  as  it  is  meant,  beau  Sire  ; 
be  proud  to  pay  the  money ;  and  we  will  throw  you  Sir  A.-^culin 
into  the  bargain,  as  he  seems  a  friend  of  Siwanl's." 

Thorold  hoped  that  Hereward  was  drunk,  and  might  forget,  or 
relent ;  but  he  was  so  sore  at  heart  that  he  slept  not  a  wink  that 
night.  But  in  the  morning  he  found,  to  his  sorrow,  that  Here- 
ward had  been  as  sober  as  himself. 


332  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

In  fine,  he  had  to  pay  the  money ;  and  was  a  poor  man  all  his 
days. 

"  Aha !  Sir  Ascelin,"  said  Hereward  apart,  as  he  bade  them 
all  farewell  with  many  courtesies.  "  I  think  I  have  put  a  spoke 
in  your  wheel  about  the  fair  Alftruda." 

"  Eh  ?     How  ?     Most  courteous  victor  ?  " 

"  Sir  Ascelin  is  not  a  very  wealthy  gentleman." 

Ascelin  laughed  assent. 

"Nudus  intravi,  nudus  exeo  —  England;  and  I  fear  now,  this 
mortal  life  likewise." 

"  But  he  looked  to  his  rich  uncle  the  Abbot,  to  further  a  cer- 
tain marriage-project  of  his.  And,  of  course,  neither  my  friend 
Gilbert  of  Ghent,  nor  my  enemy  William  of  Normandy,  are 
likely  to  give  away  so  rich  an  heiress  without  some  gratification 
in  return." 

"  Sir  Hereward  knows  the  world,  it  seems." 

"  So  he  has  been  told  before.  And,  therefore,  having  no  in- 
tention that  Sir  Ascelin,  however  worthy  of  any  and  every  fair 
lady,  should  marry  this  one ;  he  took  care  to  cut  off  the  stream 
at  the  fountain-head.  If  he  hears  that  the  suit  is  still  pushed,  he 
may  cut  off  another  head  beside  the  fountain's." 

"  There  will  be  no  need,"  said  Ascelin,  laughing  again.  "  You 
have  very  suflSciently  ruined  my  uncle,  and  my  hopes." 

"  My  head  ?  "  said  he,  as  soon  as  Hereward  was  out  of  hear- 
ing. "  If  I  do  not  cut  off  thy  head  ere  all  is  over,  there  is  neither 
luck  nor  craft  left  among  Normans.  I  shall  catch  the  Wake 
sleeping  some  day,  let  him  be  never  so  Wakeful." 


CHAPTER    XXXVL 

HOW  ALFTRUDA  WROTE   TO  HEREWARD. 

The  weary  months  ran  on,  from  summer  into  winter,  and 
winter  into  summer  again,  for  two  years  and  more,  and  neither 
Torfrida  nor  Hereward  were  the  better  for  them.  Hope  de- 
ferred maketh  the  lieart  sick :  and  a  sick  heart  is  but  too  apt 
to  be  a  peevish  one.  So  there  were  fits  of  despondency,  jars, 
mutual  recriminations.  "  If  I  had  not  taken  your  advice,  I 
should  not  have  been  here."  "  If  I  had  not  loved  you  so  well, 
I  might  have  been  very  differently  off," — and  so  forth.  The 
words  were  wiped  away  the  next  hour,  perhaps  the  next  minute, 
by  sacred  kisses ;  but  they  had  been  said,  and  would  be  recol- 
lected, and  perhaps  said  again. 

Then,  again,  the  "  merry  greenwood  "  was  merry  enough  in 
the  summer  tide,  when  shaughs  were  green,  and 

"  The  woodwele  sang,  and  would  not  cease, 
Sitting  upon  the  spray, 
So  loud,  it  wakened  Robin  Hood 
In  the  greenwood  where  he  lay." 

But  it  was  a  sad  place  enough,  when  the  autumn  fog  crawled 
round  the  gorse,  and  dripped  off  the  hollies,  and  choked  alike  the 
breath  and  the  eyesight ;  when  the  air  sickened  with  the  grave- 
yard smell  of  rotting  leaves,  and  the  rain-water  stood  in  the  clay 
holes  over  the  poached  and  sloppy  lawns. 

It  was  merry  enough,  too,  when  they  were  in  winter  quarters 
in  friendly  farm-houses,  as  long  as  the  bright  sharp  frosts  lasted, 
and  they  tracked  the  hares  and  deer  merrily  over  the  frozen 
snows  ;  but  it  was  doleful  enough  in  those  same  farm-houses  in 
the  howling  wet  weather,  when  wind  and  rain  lashed  in  through 
unglazed  window,  and  ill-made  roof,  and  there  were  coughs  and 
colds  and  rheumatisms,  and  Torfrida  ached  from  head  to  foot, 
and  once  could  not  stand  upright  for  a  whole  month  together, 
and  every  cranny  was  stuffed  up  with  bits  of  board  and  rags, 
keeping  out  light  and  air  as  well  as  wind  and  water ;  and  there 
was  little  difference  between  the  short  day  and  the  long  night ; 
and  the  men  gambled  and  wrangled  amid  clouds  of  peat-reek, 
over  draughtboards   and  chessmen  which   they  had   carved  for 


334  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

themselves,  and  Torfrida  sat  stitching  and  sewing,  making  and 
mending,  her  eyes  bleared  with  peat-smoke,  her  hands  sore  and 
coarse  from  continual  labor,  her  cheek  bronzed,  her  face  thin 
and  hollow,  and  all  her  beauty  worn  away  for  very  trouble. 
Tlien  sometimes  there  was  not  enough  to  eat,  and  every  one 
grumbled  at  her ;  or  some  one's  clothes  were  not  mended,  and 
she  was  grumbled  at  again.  And  sometimes  a  foraging  party 
brought  home  liquor,  and  all  who  could  got  drunk  to  drive  dull 
care  away ;  and  Hereward,  forgetful  of  all  her  warnings,  got 
more  than  was  good  for  him  likewise ;  and  at  night  she  coiled 
herself  up  in  her  furs,  cold  and  contemptuous  ;  and  Hereward 
coiled  himself  up,  guilty  and  defiant,  and  woke  her  again  and 
again  with  starlings  and  wild  words  in  his  sleep.  And  she  felt 
that  her  beauty  was  gone,  and  that  he  saw  it ;  and  she  fancied 
him  (perhaps  it  was  only  fancy)  less  tender  than  of  yore ;  and 
then  in  very  pride  disdained  to  take  any  care  of  her  person, 
and  said  to  herself,  though  she  dare  not  say  it  to  him,  that  if  he 
only  loved  her  for  her  face,  he  did  not  love  her  at  all.  And 
because  she  fancied  him  cold  at  times,  she  was  cold  likewise,  and 
grew  less  and  less  caressing,  when  for  his  sake,  as  well  as  her 
own,  she  should  have  grown  more  so  day  by  day. 

Alas  for  them !  there  are  many  excuses.  Sorrow  may  be 
a  softening  medicine  at  last,  but  at  first  it  is  apt  to  be  a  harden- 
ing one;  and  that  savage  outlaw  life  which  they  were  leading 
can  never  have  been  a  wholesome  one  for  any  soul  of  man,  and 
its  graces  must  have  existed  only  in  the  brains  of  harpers  and 
gleemen.  Away  from  law,  from  self-restraint,  from  refinement, 
from  elegance,  from  the  very  sound  of  a  church-going  bell,  they 
were  sinking  gradually  down  to  the  level  of  the  coarse  men  and 
women  whom  they  saw ;  the  worse  and  not  the  better  parts  of 
both  their  characters  were  getting  the  upper  hand ;  and  it  was 
but  too  possible  that  after  a  while  the  hero  might  sink  into  the 
ruffian,  the  lady  into  a  slattern  and  a  shrew. 

But  in  justice  to  them  be  it  said,  that  neither  of  them  had 
complained  of  the  other  to  any  living  soul.  Their  love  had 
been  as  yet  too  perfect,  too  sacred,  for  them  to  confess  to  another 
(and  thereby  confess  to  themselves)  that  it  could  in  any  wise  fail. 
Tliey  had  each  idolized  the  other,  and  been  too  proud  of  their 
idolatry  to  allow  that  their  idol  could  crumble  or  decay. 

And  yet  at  last  that  point,  too,  was  reached.  One  day  they 
were  wrangling  about  somewhat,  as  they  too  often  wrangled, 
and  Hereward  in  his  temper  let  fall  the  words,  "  As  I  said  to 
Winter  the  other  day,  you  grow  harder  and  harder  upon  rae." 

Torfi'ida  started  and  fixed  on  him  wide,  terrible,  scornful  eyes. 
"  So  you  complain  of  me  to  your  boon  companions  ?  " 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH.  335 

And  she  turned  and  went  away  without  a  word.  A  gulf  had 
opened  between  them.  They  hardly  spoke  to  each  other  for  a 
week. 

Ilereward  complained  of  Torfrida  ?  What  if  Torfrida  should 
complain  of  Ilereward  ?  But  to  whom  ?  Not  to  the  coarse 
women  round  her ;  her  pride  revolted  from  that  thought ;  — 
and  yet  she  longed  for  counsel,  for  sympathy, — to  open  her  heart 
but  to  one  fellow-woman.  She  would  go  to  the  Lady  Godiva 
at  Crowland,  and  take  counsel  of  her,  whether  there  was  any 
method  (for  so  she  put  it  to  herself)  of  saving  Hereward ;  for 
she  saw  but  too  clearly  that  he  was  fast  forgetting  all  her  teach- 
ing, and  falling  back  to  a  point  lower  than  that  even  from  which 
she  had  raised  him  up. 

To  go  to  Crowland  was  not  difficult.  It  was  mid-winter. 
The  dikes  were  all  frozen.  Hereward  was  out  foraging  in  the 
Lincolnshire  wolds.  So  Toifrida,  taking  advantage  of  his  ab- 
sence, proposed  another  foi'aging  party  to  Crowland  itself.  She 
wanted  stuff  for  clothes,  needles,  thread,  what  not.  A  dozen 
stout  fellows  volunteered  at  once  to  take  her.  The  friendly 
monks  of  Crowland  would  feast  them  royally,  and  send  them 
home  heaped  with  all  manner  of  good  things ;  while  as  for  meet- 
ing Ivo  Taillebois's  men,  if  they  had  but  three  to  one  against 
them,  there  was  a  fair  chance  of  killing  a  few,  and  carrying  off 
their  clothes  and  weapons,  which  would  be  usefuL  So  they 
made  a  sledge,  tied  beef-bones  underneath  it,  put  Torfrida  thereon, 
well  wrapped  in  deer  and  fox  and  badger  skin,  and  then  putting  on 
their  skates,  swept  her  over  the  fen  to  Crowland,  singing  like  larks 
along  the  dikes. 

And  Torfrida  went  in  to  Godiva,  and  wept  upon  her  knees ; 
and  Godiva  wept  likewise,  and  gave  her  such  counsel  as  she 
could,  —  how  if  the  woman  will  keep  the  men  heroic,  she  must 
keep  herself  not  heroic  only,  but  devout  likewise  ;  how  she  her- 
self, by  that  one  deed  which  had  rendered  her  name  famous  then, 
and  famous  (though  she  never  dreamt  thereof)  now,  and  it  may  be 
to  the  end  of  time,  —  had  once  for  all,  tamed,  chained,  and  as  it 
were  converted,  the  heart  of  her  fierce  young  lord ;  and  enabled 
her  to  train  him  in  good  time  into  the  most  wise,  most  just,  most 
pious,  of  all  King  Edward's  earls. 

And  Torfrida  said  yes,  and  yes,  and  yes,  and  felt  in  her  heart 
that  she  knew  all  that  already.  Had  not  she,  too,  taught,  entreated, 
softened,  civilized  ?  Had  not  she,  too,  spent  her  life  upon  a  man, 
and  that  man  a  wolf's-head  and  a  landless  outlaw,  more  utterly 
than  Godiva  could  ever  have  spent  hers  on  one  who  lived  lapped 
in  luxury  and  wealth  and  power  ?  Torfrida  had  done  her  best, 
and  she  had  failed,  or  at  least  fancied  in  her  haste  that  she  had 
failed. 


336  HERE  WARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

What  she  wanted  was,  not  counsel,  but  love.  And  she  clung 
round  the  Lady  Godiva,  till  the  broken  and  ruined  widow  opened 
all  her  heart  to  her,  and  took  her  in  her  arms,  and  fondled  her 
as  if  she  had  been  a  babe.  And  the  two  women  spoke  few  words 
after  that,  for  indeed  there  was  nothing  to  be  said.  Only  at  last, 
"  My  child,  my  child,"  cried  Godiva,  "  better  for  thee,  body  and 
soul,  to  be  hei'e  with  me  in  the  house  of  God,  than  there  amid 
evil  spirits  and  deeds  of  daikness  in  the  wild  woods." 

'*  Not  a  cloistei',  not  a  cloister,"  cried  Torfrida,  shuddering,  and 
half  struggling  to  get  away. 

"  It  is  the  only  place,  poor  wilful  child,  the  only  place  this  side 
the  grave,  in  which  we  wretched  creatures,  who  for  our  sins  are 
women  born,  can  find  aught  of  rest  or  peace.  By  us  sin  came 
into  tlie  world,  and  Eve's  curse  lies  heavy  on  us  to  this  day,  and 
our  desire  is  to  our  lords,  and  they  rule  over  us  ;  and  when  the 
slave  can  work  for  her  master  no  more,  what  better  than  to  crawl 
into  the  house  of  God,  and  lay  down  our  crosses  at  the  foot  of 
His  cross  and  die  ?  You  too  will  come  here,  Torfrida,  some  day, 
I  know  it  well.     You  too  will  come  here  to  rest." 

"  Never,  never,"  shrieked  Torfrida,  "  never  to  these  horrid 
vaults.  I  will  die  in  the  fresh  air !  I  will  be  burled  under  the 
green  hollies ;  and  the  nightingales  as  they  wander  up  from  my 
own  Provence,  shall  build  and  sing  over  my  grave.  Never,  never ! " 
murmured  she  to  herself  all  the  more  eagerly,  because  something 
within  her  said  that  it  would  come  to  pass. 

The  two  women  went  into  the  church  to  Matins,  and  prayed 
long  and  fervently.  And  at  the  early  daybreak  the  party  went 
back  laden  with  good  things  and  hearty  blessings,  and  caught 
one  of  Ivo  Taillebois's  men  by  the  way,  and  slew  him,  and  got  off 
him  a  new  suit  of  clothes  in  which  the  poor  fellow  was  going  court- 
ing ;  and  so  they  got  home  safe  into  the  Bruneswald. 

But  Torfrida  had  not  found  rest  unto  her  soul.  For  the  first  time 
in  her  life  since  she  became  the  bride  of  Hereward,  she  had  had 
a  confidence  concerning  him  and  unknown  to  him.  It  was  to  his 
own  mother,  —  true.  And  yet  she  felt  as  if  she  had  betrayed  him  : 
but  then  had  he  not  betrayed  her  ?     And  to  Winter  of  all  men  ? 

It  might  have  been  two  months  afterwards  that  Martin  Light- 
foot  put  a  letter  into  Torfrida's  hand. 

The  letter  was  addressed  to  Hereward ;  but  there  was  notliing 
strange  in  Martin's  bringing  it  to  his  mistress.  Ever  since  their 
maiTiage,  she  had  opened  and  generally  answered  the  very  few 
epistles  with  which  her  husband  was  troubled. 

She  was  going  to  open  this  one  as  a  matter  of  course,  when 
glancing  at  the  supei'scription  she  saw,  or  fancied  she  saw,  that  it 
was  in  a  woman's  hand.     She  looked  at  it  again.     It  was  sealed 


HEREVVARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       337 

plainly  with  a  woman's  seal ;  and  she  looked  up  at  Martin  Light 
foot.  She  had  remarked  as  he  gave  her  the  letter  a  sly  signifi- 
cant look  in  his  face. 

"  What  doest  thou  know  of  this  letter  ?  "  she  inquired  sharply, 

"That  it  is  from  the  Countess  Alftruda,  whomsoever  she  may  be." 

A  chill  struck  through  her  heart.  True,  Alftruda  had  written 
before,  only  to  warn  Hereward  of  danger  to  his  life,  —  and  hers. 
She  might  be  writing  again,  only  for  the  same  purpose.  But  still, 
she  did  not  wish  that  either  Hereward,  or  she,  should  owe  Alf- 
truda their  lives,  or  anything.  They  had  struggled  on  through 
weal  and  woe  without  her,  for  many  a  year.  Let  them  do  so 
without  her  still.  That  Alftruda  had  once  loved  Hereward  she 
knew  well.  Why  should  she  not  ?  The  wonder  was  to  her  that 
every  woman  did  not  love  him.  But  she  had  long  since  gauged 
Alftruda's  character,  and  seen  in  it  a  persistence  like  her  own, 
yet  as  she  proudly  hoped  of  a  lower  temper ;  the  persistence  of 
the  base  weasel,  not  of  the  noble  hound :  yet  the  creeping  weasel 
might  endure,  and  win,  when  the  hound  was  tired  out  by  his  own 
gallant  pace.  And  there  was  a  something  in  the  tone  of  Alf- 
truda's last  letter  which  seemed  to  tell  her  that  the  weasel  was 
still  upon  the  scent  of  its  game.  But  she  was  too  proud  to  mis- 
trust Hereward,  or  rather,  to  seem  to  mistrust  him.  And  yet  — 
how  dangerous  Alftruda  might  be  as  a  rival,  if  rival  she  choose 
to  be.  She  was  up  in  the  world  now,  free,  rich,  gay,  beautiful,  a 
favorite  at  Queen  Matilda's  court,  while  she  — 

"  How  came  this  letter  into  thy  hands  ?  "  asked  she  as  care- 
les>ly  as  she  could. 

"  I  was  in  Peterborough  last  night,"  said  Martin,  "  concerning 
little  matters  of  my  own,  and  there  came  to  me  in  the  street  a 
bonny  young  page  with  smart  jacket  on  his  back,  smart  cap  on 
his  head,  and  smiles  and  bows,  and  '  You  are  one  of  Hereward's 
men,'  quoth  he." 

" '  Say  that  again,  young  jackanapes, '  said  I,  '  and  I  '11  cut 
your  tongue  out,'  whereat  he  took  fright  and  all  but  cried.  He 
was  very  sorry,  and  meant  no  harm,  but  he  had  a  letter  for  my 
maste;-,  and  he  heard  I  was  one  of  his  men. 

"  Who  told  him  that  ?  " 

"  Well,  one  of  the  monks,  he  could  not  justly  say  which,  or 
would  n't,  and  I,  thinking  the  letter  of  more  importance  than  my 
own  neck,  ask  him  quietly  into  my  friend's  house.  There  he 
pulls  out  this  and  five  silver  pennies,  and  I  shall  have  five  more 
if  I  bring  an  an-wer  back :  but  to  none  than  Hereward  must  I 
give  it.  With  that  I  calling  my  friend,  who  is  an  honest  woman, 
and  nigh  as  strons;  in  the  arms  as  I  am,  ask  her  to  clap  her  back 
against  the  door,  and  pull  out  my  axe." 

15  Y 


838  HERE  WARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

" '  Now,'  said  I,  *  I  must  know  a  little  more  about  this  letter. 
Tell  me,  knave,  who  gave  it  thee,  or  I  '11  split  thy  skull.' 

"  The  young  man  cries  and  blubbers  ;  and  says  that  it  is  the 
Countess  Alftruda,  who  is  staying  in  the  monastery,  and  that  he 
is  her  serving  man,  and  that  it  is  as  much  as  my  life  is  worth  to 
touch  a  hair  of  his  head,  and  so  forth,  —  so  far  so  good. 

"  Then  I  asked  him  again,  who  told  him  I  was  my  master's 
man?  — and  he  confessed  that  it  was  Herluin  the  prior,  —  he  that 
was  Lady  Godiva's  chaplain  of  old,  whom  my  master  robbed  of 
his  money  when  he  had  the  cell  of  Bourne  years  agone.  Very 
well,  quoth  I  to  myself,  that's  one  more  count  on  our  score  against 
Master  Herluin.  Then  I  asked  him  how  Herluin  and  the  Lady 
Alftruda  came  to  know  aught  of  each  other  ?  and  he  said  that 
she  had  been  questioning  all  about  the  monastery  without  Abbot 
Thorold's  knowledge,  for  one  that  knew  Hereward  and  favored 
him  well.  That  was  all  I  could  get  from  the  knave,  he  cried  so 
for  fright.  So  I  took  his  money  and  his  letter,  warning  him  that 
if  be  betrayed  me,  there  were  those  would  roast  him  alive 
before  he  was  done  with  me.  And  so  away  over  the  town  wall, 
and  ran  here  five-and-twenty  miles  before  breakfast,  and  thought 
it  better  as  you  see  to  give  the  letter  to  my  lady  first." 

"  You  have  been  officious,"  said  Torfrida,  coldly.  ,"  'T  is  ad- 
dressed to  your  master.     Take  it  to  him.     Go." 

Martin  Lightfoot  whi-^tled  and  obeyed,  while  Torfrida  walked 
away  proudly  and  silently  with  a  beating  heart. 

Again  Gotliva's  words  came  over  her.  Siiould  she  end  in  the 
convent  of  Crowland  ?  And  suspecting,  fearing,  imagining  all 
sorts  of  baseless  phantoms,  she  hardened  her  heart  into  a  great 
hardness. 

Martin  had  gone  with  the  letter,  and  Torfrida  never  heard  any 
more  of  it. 

So  Hereward  had  secrets  which  he  would  not  tell  to  her.  At 
last! 

That,  at  least,  was  a  misery  which  she  would  not  confide  to 
Lady  Godiva,  or  to  any  soul  on  earth. 

But  a  misery  it  was.  Such  a  misery  as  none  can  delineate, 
save  those  who  have  endured  it  themselves,  or  had  it  confided  to 
tliem  by  another.  And  happy  are  they  to  whom  neither  has  be- 
fallen. 

She  wandered  on  and  into  the  wild-wood,  and  sat  down  by  a 
spring.  She  looked  in  it  —  her  only  mirror  —  at  her  wan,  coarse 
face,  with  wild  black  elf-locks  hanging  round  it,  and  wondered 
whether  Alftruda,  in  her  luxury  and  prosperity,  was  still  so  very 
beautiful.  Ah,  that  that  fountain  were  the  fountain  of  Jouvence, 
the  spring  of  perpetual  youth,  which  all  believed  in  those  days  to 


1 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  339 

exist  somewhere,  —  how  would  she  plunge  into  it,  and  be  young 
and  fair  once  more  ! 

No!  she  would  not!  She  had  lived  her  life,  and  lived  it  well^ 
gallantly,  lovingly,  heroically.  She  had  given  that  man  her  youth, 
her  beauty,  her  wealth,  her  wit.  He  should  not  have  them  a 
second  time.  He  had  had  his  will  of  her.  If  he  chose  to  throw 
her  away  when  he  had  done  with  her,  to  prove  himself  base  at 
last,  unworthy  of  all  her  care,  her  counsels,  l^fr  training,  —  dread- 
ful thought !  To  have  lived  to  keep  that  man  for  her  own,  and 
just  when  her  work  seemed  done,  to  lose  him !  No,  there  was 
worse  than  that.  To  have  lived  that  she  might  make  that  man  a 
perfect  knight,  and  just  when  her  work  seemed  done,  to  see  him 
lose  himself! 

And  she  wept  till  she  could  weep  no  more.  Then  she  washed 
away  her  tears  in  that  well.  Had  it  been  in  Greece  of  old,  that 
well  would  have  become  a  sacred  well  thenceforth,  and  Torfrida's 
tears  have  changed  into  forget-me-nots,  and  fringed  its  marge 
with  azure  evermore. 

Then  she  went  back,  calm,  all  but  cold :  but  determined  not  to 
betray  herself,  let  him  do  what  he  would.  Perhaps  it  was  all  a 
mistake,  a  fancy.  At  least  she  would  not  degrade  him,  and  her- 
self, by  showing  suspicion.  It  would  be  dreadful,  shameful  to 
herself,  wickedly  unjust  to  him,  to  accuse  him,  were  he  innocent 
after  all. 

Hereward,  she  remarked,  was  more  kind  to  her  now.  But  it 
was  a  kindness  which  she  did  not  like.  It  was  shy,  faltering,  as 
of  a  man  guilty  and  ashamed ;  and  she  repelled  it  as  much  as  she 
dared,  and  then,  once  or  twice,  returned  it  passionately,  madly,  in 
hopes  — 

But  he  never  spoke  a  word  of  that  letter. 

After  a  dreadful  month,  Martin  came  mysteriously  to  her  again. 
She  trembled,  for  she  had  remarked  in  him  lately  a  strange 
change.  He  had  lost  his  usual  loquacity  and  quaint  humor ; 
and  had  fallen  back  into  that  sullen  taciturnity,  which,  so  she 
heard,  he  had  kept  up  in  his  youth.  He,  too,  must,  know  evil 
which  he  dared  not  tell. 

"There  is  another  letter  come.     It  came  last  night,"  said  he. 

"  What  is  that  to  thee  or  me  ?  My  lord  has  his  state  secrets. 
Is  it  for  us  to  pry  into  them  ?     Go  ! " 

"  I  thought  —  I  thought  —  " 

"  Go,  I  say  !  " 

"  That  your  ladyship  might  wish  for  a  guide  to  Crowland." 

"  Crowland  ?  "  almost  shrieked  Torfrida,  for  the  thought  of 
Crowland  had  risen  in  her  own  wretched  mind  instantly  and  in- 
voluntarily.    "  Go,  madman  !  " 


340  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

Martin  went.     Torfrida  paced  madly  up  and  down  the  faFm- 
house.     Then  she  settled  herself  into  fierce  despair. 
^     There  was  a  Hoise  of  trampling  horses  outside.     The  men  were 
arming  and  saddling,  seemingly  for  a  raid. 

Herevvai'd  hurried  in  for  his  armor.  When  he  saw  Torfrida, 
he  blushed  scarlet. 

"  You  want  your  arms,"  said  she,  quietly ;  "  let  me  fetch 
them." 

"  No,  never  mind.  I  can  harness  myself;  I  am  going  south- 
west, to  pay  Taillebois  a  visit.  I  am  in  a  great  hurry.  I  shall 
be  back  in  three  days.     Then  —  good  by." 

He  snatched  his  arms  off  a  perch,  and  hurried  out  again,  drag^ 
ging  them  on.  As  he  passed  her,  he  offered  to  kiss  her  ;  she  put 
him  back,  and  helped  him  on  with  his  armor,  while  he  thanked 
her  confusedly. 

"  He  was  as  glad  not  to  kiss  me,  after  all ! " 

She  looked  after  him  as  he  stood,  his  hand  on  his  horse's  with- 
ers. How  noble  he  looked  !  And  a  great  yearning  came  over 
her.  To  throw  her  arms  round  his  neck  once,  and  then  to  stab 
herself,  and  set  him  free,  dying,  as  she  had  lived,  for  him. 

Two  bonny  boys  were  wrestling  on  the  lawn,  young  outlaws 
who  had  grown  up  in  the  forest  with  ruddy  cheeks  and  iron 
limbs. 

"  Ah,  Winter !  "  she  heard  him  say,  "  had  I  had  such  a  boy  as 
that !  —  " 

She  heard  no  more.  She  turned  away,  her  heart  dead  within 
her.  She  knew  all  that  these  words  implied,  in  days  when  the 
possession  of  land  was  everything  to  the  free  man  ;  and  the  pos- 
session of  a  son  necessary,  to  pass  that  land  on  in  the  ancestral 
line.  Only  to  have  a  son  ;  only  to  prevent  the  old  estate  passing, 
with  an  heiress,  into  the  hands  of  strangers,  what  crimes  did  not 
men  commit  in  those  days,  and  find  themselves  excused  for  them 
by  public  opinion.  And  now,  —  her  other  children  (if  she  ever 
had  any)  had  died  in  childhood  ;  the  little  Torfrida,  named  after 
herself,  was  all  that  she  had  brought  to  Hereward  ;  and  he  was 
the  last  of  his  house.  In  him  the  race  of  Leofric,  of  Godiva,  of 
Earl  Oslae,  would  become  extinct ;  and  that  girl  would  marry  — 
whom  ?  Whom  but  some  French  conqueror,  —  or  at  best  some 
English  outlaw.  In  either  case  Hereward  would  have  no  de- 
scendants for  whom  it  was  worth  his  while  to  labor  or  to  fight. 
What  wonder  if  he  longed  for  a  son,  —  and  not  a  son  of  hei-s, 
the  barren  tree,  —  to  pass  his  name  down  to  future  generations  ? 
It  might  be  worth  while,  for  that,  to  come  in  to  the  king,  to  re- 
cover his  lands,  to  — "  She  saw  it  all  now,  and  her  heart  was 
dead  within  her. 


HERE  WARD,  THE   LAST   OF  THE   ENGLISH.  341 

She  spent  that  evening  neither  eating  nor  drinking,  but  sitting 
over  the  log  embers,  her  head  upon  her  hands,  and  thinking  over 
all  her  past  life  and  love,  since  she  saw  him,  from  the  gable  win- 
dow, ride  the  first  time  into  St.  Omer.  She  went  through  it  all, 
with  a  certain  stern  delight  in  the  self-torture,  deliberately  day 
by  day,  year  by  year,  —  all  its  lofty  aspirations,  all  its  blissful 
passages,  all  its  deep  disappointments,  and  found  in  it — so  she 
chose  to  fancy  in  the  wilfulness  of  her  misery  —  nothing  but  cau^e 
for  remorse.  Self  in  all,  vanity,  and  vexation  of  spirit ;  for  her* 
self  she  had  loved  him;  for  herself  she  had  tried  to  raise  him; 
for  herself  she  had  set  her  heart  on  man,  and  not  on  God.  She 
had  sown  the  wind  :  and  behold,  she  had  reaped  the  whirlwind. 
She  could  not  repent ;  she  could  not  pray.  But  oh  !  that  she 
could  die. 

She  was  linjust  to  herself,  in  her  great  nobleness.  It  was  not 
true,  not  half,  not  a  tenth  part  true. 

But  perhaps  it  was  good  for  her  that  it  should  seem  true,  for 
that  moment ;  that  she  should  be  emptied  of  all  earthly  things 
for  once,  if  so  she  might  be  filled  from  above.  At  last  she  went 
into  the  inner  room  to  lie  down  and  try  to  sleep.  At  her  feet, 
under  the  perch  where  Hereward's  armor  had  hung,  lay  an  open 
letter. 

She  picked  it  up,  surprised  at  seeing  such  a  thing  there,  and 
kneeling  down,  held  it  eagerly  to  the  wax  candle  which  was  on  a 
spike  at  the  bed's  head. 

She  knew  the  handwriting  in  a  moment.     It  was  Alftruda's. 

This,  then,  was  why  Hereward  had  been  so  strangely  hurried. 
He  must  have  had  that  letter,  and  dropped  it. 

Her  eye  and  mind  took  it  all  in,  in  one  instant,  as  the  lightning 
flash  reveals  a  whole  landscape.  And  then  her  mind  became  as 
dark  as  that  landscape,  when  the  flash  is  past. 

It  congratulated  Hei'eward  on  having  shaken  himself  free  from 
the  fascination  of  that  sorceress.  It  said  that  all  was  settled  with 
King  Wilham.  Hereward  was  to  come  to  Winchester.  She 
had  the  King's  writ  for  his  safety  ready  to  send  to  him.  The 
King  would  receive  him  as  his  liegeman.  Alftruda  would  receive 
him  as  her  husband.  Archbishop  Lanfranc  had  made  difficulties 
about  the  dissolution  of  the  marriage  with  Torfrida:  but  gold 
would  do  all  things  at  Rome  ;  and  Lanfranc  was  her  very  good 
friend,  and  a  reasonable  man,  —  and  so  forth. 

Men,  and  beasts  likewise,  when  stricken  with  a  mortal  wound, 
will  run,  and  run  on,  blindly,  aimless,  impelled  by  the  mere 
instinct  of  escape  from  intolerable  agony.  And  so  did  Torfrida. 
Half  undrest  as  she  was,  she  fled  forth  into  the  forest,  she  knew 
not  whither,  running  as  one  does  wrapt  in  fire  :  but  the  fire  was 
not  without  her,  but  within. 


342       HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

She  cast  a  passinj^  glance  at  the  girl  who  lay  by  her,  sleeping 
a  pure  and  gentle  sleep  —  " 

"  O  that  thou  hadst  but  been  a  boy  !  "  Then  she  thought  no 
more  of  her,  not  even  of  Hereward  :  but  all  of  which  she  was 
conscious  was  a  breast  and  brain  bursting ;  an  intolerable  choking, 
from  which  she  must  escape. 

She  ran,  and  ran  on,  for  miles.  She  knew  not  whether  the 
night  was  liglit  or  dark,  warm  or  cold.  Her  tender  feet  might 
have  been  ankle  deep  in  snow.  The  branches  over  her  head 
might  have  been  howling  in  the  tempest,  or  dripping  with  rain. 
She  knew  not,  and  heeded  not.  The  owls  hooted  to  each  other 
under  the  staring  moon,  but  she  heard  them  not.  The  wolves 
glared  at  her  from  the  brakes,  and  slunk  off  appalled  at  the  white 
ghostly  figure  :  but  she  saw  them  not.  The  deer  stood  at  gaze 
in  the  glades  till  she  was  close  upon  them,  and  then  bounded  into 
the  wood.  She  ran  right  at  them,  past  them,  heedless.  She  had 
but  one  thought.  To  flee  from  the  agony  of  a  soul  alone  in  the 
universe  with  its  own  misery. 

At  last  she  was  awai-e  of  a  man  close  beside  her.  He  had 
been  following  her  a  long  way,  she  recollected  now ;  but  she  had 
not  feared  him,  even  heeded  him.  But  when  he  laid  his  hand 
upon  her  arm,  she  turned  fiercely,  but  without  dread. 

She  looked  to  see  if  it  was  Hereward.  To  meet  him  would 
be  death.  If  it  were  not  he,  she  cared  not  who  it  was.  It  was 
not  Hereward;  and  she  cried  angrily,  "Off!  off!"  and  hui- 
ried  on. 

"  But  you  are  going  the  wrong  way !  The  wrong  way  I "  said 
the  voice  of  Martin  Lightfoot. 

"  The  wrong  way !  Fool,  which  is  the  right  way  for  me,  save 
the  path  wliich  leads  to  a  land  where  all  is  forgotten?" 

"  To  Crowland  I  To  Crowland  !  To  the  minster  I  To  the 
monks  !  That  is  the  only  right  way  for  poor  wretches  in  a  world 
like  this.  The  Lady  Godiva  told  you  you  must  go  to  Crowland. 
And  now  you  are  going.  I  too,  I  ran  away  from  a  monastery 
when  I  was  young ;  and  now  I  am  going  back.     Come  along ! " 

"  You  are  right !  Crowland,  Crowland ;  and  a  nun's  cell  till 
death.     "Wliich  is  the  way,  Martin  ?  " 

"  O  a  wise  lady  !  A  reasonable  lady !  But  you  will  be  cold 
before  you  get  thither.  There  will  be  a  frost  ere  morn.  So, 
when  I  saw  you  run  out,  I  caught  up  something  to  put  over  you." 

Torfrida  shuddered,  as  Mai'tin  wrapped  her  in  the  white  bear- 
skin. 

"  No  !  Not  that !  Anything  but  that !  "  and  she  struggled  to 
shake  it  off. 

"  Then  you  will  be  dead  ere  dawn.  Folks  that  run  wild  in  the 
forest  thus,  for  but  one  night,  die ! " 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.      343 

•'  Would  God  I  could  die  ! " 

"  That  shall  be  as  He  wills  ;  you  do  not  die  while  Martin  can 
keep  you  alive.     Wiiy,  you  are  staggering  already." 

Martin  caught  her  up  in  his  arms,  threw  her  over  his  shoulder 
as  if"  she  had  been  a  child,  and  hurried  on,  in  the  strength  of 
madness. 

At  last  he  stopped  at  a  cottage  door,  set  her  down  upon  the 
turf,  and  knocked  loudly. 

"Grimkel  Tolison  !     Grimkel,  I  say!" 

And  Martin  burst  the  door  open  with  his  foot. 

"  Give  me  a  horse,  on  your  life,"  said  he  to  the  man  inside. 
"  I  am  Martin,  Hereward's  man,  upon  my  master's  business." 

"  What  is  mine  is  Hereward's,  God  bless  him,"  said  the  man, 
struggling  into  a  garment,  and  hurrying  out  to  the  shed. 

"  There  is  a  ghost  against  the  gate  ! "  cried  he,  recoiling. 

"  That  is  my  matter,  not  yours.  Get  me  a  horse  to  put  the 
ghost  upon." 

Torfrida  lay  against  the  gate-post,  exhausted  now ;  but  quite 
unable  to  think.  Martin  lifted  her  on  to  the  beast,  and  led  her 
onward,  holding  her  up  again  and  again. 

"  You  are  tired.  You  had  run  four  miles  before  I  could  make 
you  hear  me." 

"  Would  I  had  run  four  thousand."  And  she  relapsed  into 
stupor. 

They  passed  out  of  the  forest,  across  open  wolds,  and  at  last 
down  to  the  river.  Martin  knew  of  a  boat  there.  He  lifted 
her  from  the  horse,  turned  him  loose,  put  Torfrida  into  the  boat, 
and  took  the  oars. 

She  looked  up,  and  saw  the  roofs  of  Bourne  shining  white  in 
the  moonlight. 

And  then  she  lifted  up  her  voice,  and  shrieked  three  times : 
"  Lost !  Lost !  Lost !  "  with  such  a  dreadful  cry,  that  the  star- 
lings whirred  up  from  the  reeds,  and  the  wild-fowl  rose  clanging 
off  the  meres,  and  the  watch-dogs  in  Bourne  and  Mainthorpe 
barked  and  howled,  and  folk  told  fearfully  next  morning  how  a 
white  ghost  had  gone  down  from  the  forest  to  the  feu,  and 
wakened  them  with  its  unearthly  cry. 

The  sun  was  high  when  they  came  to  Crowland  minster.  Tor- 
frida had  neither  spoken  nor  stirred ;  and  Martin,  who  in  the 
midst  of  his  madness  kept  a  strange  courtesy  and  delicacy,  had 
never  disturbed  her,  save  to  wrap  the  bear-skin  more  closely  over 
her. 

When  they  came  to  the  bank,  she  rose,  stepped  out  without  his 
help,  and  drawing  the  bear-skin  closely  round  her,  and  over  her 
head,  walked  straight  up  to  the  gate  of  the  house  of  nuns. 


344      HEEEWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

All  men  wondered  at  the  white  ghost ;  but  Martin  walked  be- 
hind her,  his  left  finger  on  his  lips,  his  right  hand  grasping  his 
little  axe,  with  such  a  stern  and  serious  face,  and  so  fierce  an 
eye,  that  all  drew  back  in  silence,  and  let  her  pass. 

The  portress  looked  through  the  wicket. 

"  I  am  Torfrida,"  said  a  voice  of  terrible  calm.  "  I  am  come 
to  see  the  Lady  Godiva.      Let  me  in." 

The  portress  opened,  utterly  astounded. 

"  Madam  ?  "  said  Martin  eagerly,  as  Torfrida  entered. 

"  What  ?  What  ?  "  She  seemed  to  waken  from  a  dream. 
"  God  bless  thee,  thou  good  and  faithful  servant " ;  and  she  turned 
again. 

"Madam?     Say!" 

"What?" 

"  Shall  I  go  back  and  kill  him  ?  "  And  he  held  out  the  little 
axe. 

Torfrida  snatched  it  from  his  grasp  with  a  shriek,  and  cast  it 
inside  the  convent  door. 

"  Mother  Mary  and  all  saints  ! "  cried  the  portress,  "  your  gar- 
ments are  in  rags,  madam  !  " 

"  Never  mind.  Bring  me  garments  of  yours.  I  shall  need 
none  other  till  I  die  ! "   and  she  walked  in  and  on. 

"  She  is  come  to  be  a  nun  !  "  whispered  the  portress  to  the  next 
sister,  and  she  again  to  the  next ;  and  they  all  gabbled,  and  lifted 
up  their  hands  and  eyes,  and  thanked  all  the  saints  of  the  calen- 
dar, over  the  blessed  and  miraculous  conversion  of  the  Lady 
Torfrida,  and  the  wealth  which  she  would  probably  bring  to  the 
convent. 

Torfrida  went  straight  on,  speaking  to  no  one,  not  even  to  the 
prioress  ;  and  into  Lady  Godiva's  chamber. 

There  she  dropped  at  the  countess's  feet,  and  laid  her  head 
upon  her  knees. 

"  I  am  come,  as  you  always  told  me  I  should  do.  But  it  has 
been  a  long  way  hither,  and  I  am  very  tired." 

"  My  child  !     What  is  this  ?     What  brings  you  here  ?  " 

"  I  am  doing  penance  for  my  sins." 

"  And  your  feet  all  cut  and  bleeding." 

"  Are  they  ?  "  said  Torfrida,  vacantly.  "  I  will  tell  you  all 
about  it  when  I  wake." 

And  she  fell  fast  asleep,  with  her  head  in   Godiva's  lap. 

The  counters  did  not  speak  or  stir.  She  beckoned  the  good 
prioress,  who  hud  followed  Torfrida  in,  to  go  away.  She  saw 
that  something  dreadful  had  happened  ;  and  prayed  as  she  awaited 
the  news. 

Torfrida  slept  for  a  full  hour.     Then  she  woke  with  a  start. 


SEEEWATtD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE'  ENGLISH.  345 

"  Where  am  T  ?     Hereward  !  " 

Then  followed  a  dreadful  shriek,  which  Taa.de  every  nun  in  that 
quiet  house  shudder,  and  thank  God  that  she  knew  nothing  of 
those  agonies  of  soul,  which  were  the  lot  of  the  foolish  virgins  who 
married  and  were  given  in  marriage  themselves,  instead  of  wait- 
ing with  oil  in  their  lamps  for  the  true  bridegroom. 

"  I  recollect  all  now,"  said  Torfrida.  "  Listen !  "  And  she 
told  the  countess  all,  with  speech  so  calm  and  clear,  that  Godiva 
was  awed  by  the  power  and  spirit  of  that  marvellous  woman. 

But  she  groaned  in  bitterness  of  soul.  "  Anything  but  this. 
Rather  death  from  him  than  treachery.  This  last,  worst  woe  had 
God  kept  in  his  quiver  for  me  most  miserable  of  women.  And 
now  his  bolt  has  fallen !  Hereward !  Hereward !  That  thy 
mother  should  wish  her  last  child  laid  in  his  grave  !  " 

"  Not  so,"  said  Torfrida,  "  it  is  well  as  it  is.  How  better  ?  It 
is  his  only  chance  for  comfort,  for  honor,  for  life  itself.  He  would 
have  grown  a  —  I  was  growing  bad  and  foul  myself  in  that  ugly 
■wilderness.  Now  he  will  be  a  knight  once  more  among  knights, 
and  win  himself  fresh  honor  in  fresh  fields.  Let  him  marry  her. 
Why  not?  He  can  get  a  dispensation  from  the  Pope,  and  then 
there  will  be  no  sin  in  it,  you  know.  If  the  Holy  Father  cannot 
make  wrong  right,  who  can  ?  Yes.  It  is  very  well  as  it  is.  And 
I  am  very  well  where  I  am.  Women !  bring  me  scissors,  and 
one  of  your  nun's  dresses.     I  am  come  to  be  a  nun  like  you." 

Godiva  would  have  stopped  her.  But  Torfrida  rose  upon  her 
knees,  and  cahtily  made  a  solemn  vow,  which,  though  canonically 
void  without  her  husband's  consent,  would,  she  well  knew,  never 
be  disputed  by  any  there  :  and  as  for  him,  —  "  He  has  lost  me ; 
and  forever.     Torfrida  never  gives  herself  away  twice." 

"  There  's  carnal  pride  in  those  words,  my  poor  child,"  said 
Godiva. 

"  Cruel !  "  said  she,  proudly.  "  When  I  am  sacrificing  myself 
utterly  for  him." 

*'  And  thy  poor  girl  ?  " 

"  He  will  let  her  come  hither,"  said  Torfrida  with  forced  calm. 
*'  He  will  see  that  it  is  not  fit  that  she  should  grow  up  with  — 
yes,  he  will  send  her  to  me  —  to  us.  And  I  shall  live  for  her  — 
and  for  you.  If  you  will  let  me  be  your  bower  woman,  dress 
you,  serve  you,  read  to  you.  You  know  that  I  am  a  pretty 
scholar.  You  will  let  me,  mother?  I  may  call  you  mother, 
may  I  not  ?  "  And  Torfrida  fondled  the  old  woman's  thin  hands. 
"  For  I  do  want  so  much  something  to  love." 

"  Love  thy  heavenly  bridegroom,  the  only  love  worthy  of  wo- 
man ! "  said  Godiva,  as  her  tears  fell  fast  on  Torfrida's  head. 

She  "gave  a  half-impatient  toss. 
15* 


346      HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

"  That  may  come,  in  good  time.  As  yet  it  is  enough  to  do,  if 
I  can  keep  down  this  devil  here  in  my  throat.  Women,  bring  me 
the  scissors." 

And  Torfrida  cut  off  her  raven  locks,  now  streaked  with  gray, 
and  put  on  the  nun's  dress,  and  became  a  nun  thenceforth. 

On  the  second  day  there  came  to  Crowland  Leofric  the  priest, 
and  with  him  the  poor  child. 

She  had  woke  in  the  morning  and  found  no  mother.  Leofric 
and  the  other  men  searched  the  woods  round,  far  and  wide.  The 
girl  mounted  her  horse,  and  would  go  with  them.  Then  they 
took  a  bloodhound,  and  he  led  them  to  Grimkel's  hut.  There 
they  heard  of  Martin.  The  ghost  must  have  been  Torfrida.  Then 
the  hound  brought  them  to  the  river.  And  they  divined  at  once 
that  she  was  gone  to  Crowland,  to  Godiva ;  but  why,  they  could 
not  guess. 

Then  the  girl  insisted,  prayed,  at  last  commanded  them  to  take 
her  to  Crowland.     And  to  Crowland  they  came. 

Leofric  left  the  girl  at  the  nun's  house  door,  and  went  into  the 
monastery,  where  he  had  friends  enow,  runaway  and  renegade  as 
he  was.  As  he  came  into  the  great  court,  whom  should  he  meet 
but  Martin  Lightfoot,  in  a  lay  brother's  frock. 

"  Aha  ?  And  are  you  come  home  likewise  ?  Have  you  re- 
nounced the  Devil  and  this  last  work  of  his  ?  " 

"  "What  work  ?  What  devil  ?  "  asked  Leofric,  who  saw  method 
in  Martin's  madness.   "  And  what  do  you  here,  in  a  long  frock  ?  " 

"  Devil  ?  Hereward  the  devil.  I  would  have  killed  him  with 
my  axe ;  but  she  got  it  from  me,  and  threw  it  in  among  the  holy 
sisters,  and  I  had  work  to  get  it  again.  Shame  on  her,  to  spoil 
my  chance  of  heaven !  For  I  should  have  surely  won  heaven, 
you  know,  if  I  had  killed  the  devil." 

After  much  beating  about,  Leofric  got  from  Martin  the  whole 
tragedy. 

And  when  he  heard  it,  he  burst  out  weeping. 

"  O  Hereward,  Hereward !  0  knightly  honor  !  O  faith  and 
troth  and  gratitude,  and  love  in  return  for  such  love  as  might 
have  tamed  lions,  and  made  tyrants  mild !  Are  they  all  carnal 
vanities,  works  of  the  weak  flesh,  bruised  reeds  which  break  when 
they  are  leaned  upon  ?  If  so,  you  are  right,  Martin,  and  there 
is  naught  left,  but  to  flee  from  a  world  in  which  all  men  are 
liars." 

And  Leofric,  in  the  midst  of  Crowland  Yard,  tore  off  his  belt 
and  trusty  sword,  his  hauberk  and  helm  also,  and  letting  down  his 
monk's  frock,  which  he  wore  trussed  to  the  mid-knee,  he  went  to 
the  Abbot's  lodgings,  and  asked  to  see  old  Ulfketyl. 

"  Bring  him  up,"  said  the  good  abbot,  "  for  he  is  a  valiant  man 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH-  347 

and  true,  in  spite  of  all  his  vanities ;  and  may  be  he  brings  news 
of  Hereward,  whom  God  forgive." 

And  when  Leofric  came  in,  he  fell  upon  his  knees,  bewailing 
and  confessing  his  sinful  life  ;  and  begged  the  abbot  to  take  him 
back  again  into  Crowland  minster,  and  lay  upon  him  what  penance 
he  thought  fit,  and  put  him  in  the  lowest  office,  because  he  was  a 
man  of  blood ;  if  only  he  might  stay  there,  and  have  a  sight  at 
times  of  his  dear  Lady  Torfrida,  without  whom  he  should  surely 
die. 

So  Leofric  was  received  back,  in  full  chapter,  by  abbot  and 
prior  and  all  the  monks.  But  when  he  asked  them  to  lay  a 
penance  upon  him,  Ulfketyl  arose  from  his  high  chair  and 
spoke. 

"  Shall  we,  who  have  sat  here  at  ease,  lay  a  penance  on  this 
man,  who  has  shed  his  blood  in  fifty  valiant  fights  for  us,  and 
for  St.  Guthlac,  and  for  this  English  land  ?  Look,  at  yon  scars 
upon  his  head  and  arms.  He  has  had  sharper  discipline  from 
cold  steel  than  we  could  give  him  here  with  rod ;  and  has  fasted 
in  the  wilderness  more  sorely,  many  a  time,  than  we  have  fasted 
here." 

And  all  the  monks  agreed,  that  no  penance  should  be  laid  on 
Leofric.  Only  that  he  should  abstain  from  singing  vain  and  car- 
nal ballads,  which  turned  the  heads  of  the  young  brothers,  and 
made  them  dream  of  naught  but  battles,  and  giants,  and  enchant- 
ers, and  ladies'  love. 

Hereward  came  back  on  the  third  day,  and  found  his  wife  and 
daughter  gone.  His  guilty  conscience  told  him  in  the  fir^^t  in- 
stant why.  For  he  went  into  the  chamber,  and  there,  upon  the 
floor,  lay  the  letter  which  he  had  looked  for  in  vain. 

No  one  had  touched  it  where  it  lay.  Perhaps  no  one  had 
dared  to  enter  the  chamber.  If  they  had,  they  would  not  have 
dared  to  meddle  with  writing,  which  they  could  not  read,  and 
which  might  contain  some  magic  spell.  Letters  were  veiy  safe 
in  those  old  days. 

There  are  moods  of  man  which  no  on^  will  dare  to  describe, 
unless,  like  Shakespeare,  he  is  Shakespeare,  and  like  Shake- 
speare knows  it  not. 

Therefore  what  Hereward  thought  and  felt  will  not  be  told. 
What  he  did  was  this. 

He  raged  and  blustered.  He  must  hide  his  shame.  He  must 
justify  himself  to  his  knights  ;  and  much  more  to  himself;  or  if 
not  justify  himself,  must  shift  some  of  the  blame  over  to  the 
opposite  side.  So  he  raged  and  blustered.  He  had  been  robbed 
of  his  wife  and  daughter.  They  had  been  cajoled  away  by  the 
monks  of  Crowland.  What  villains  were  those,  to  rob  an  honest 
man  of  his  family  while  he  was  fighting  for  his  country  ? 


348  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

So  he  rode  down  to  the  I'iver,  and  there  took  two  great  barges, 
and  rowed  away  to  Crowhind,  with  forty  men-at-arms. 

And  all  the  while  he  thought  of  Alftruda,  as  be  bad  seen  her 
at  Peterborough. 

And  of  no  one  else  ? 

Not  so.  For  all  the  while  he  felt  that  be  loved  Torfrida's 
little  finger  better  than  Alftruda's  whole  body,  and  soul  into 
the  bargain. 

What  a  long  way  it  was  to  Crowland.  How  wearying  were 
the  hours  through  mere  and  sea.  How  wearying  the  monoto- 
nous pulse  of  the  oars.  If  tobacco  had  been  known  then,  Here- 
ward  would  have  smoked  all  the  way,  and  been  none  the  wiser, 
though  the  happier,  for  it ;  for  the  herb  that  drives  away  the 
evil  spirits  of  anxiety,  drives  away  also  the  good,  though  stem, 
spirits  of  remorse. 

But  in  those  days  a  man  could  only  escape  facts  by  drinking ; 
and  Hereward  was  too  much  afraid  of  what  he  should  meet  in 
Crowland,  to  go  thither  drunk. 

Sometimes  he  hoped  that  Torfrida  might  hold  her  purpose, 
and  set  him  free  to  follow  his  wicked  will.  All  the  lower  na- 
ture in  him,  so  long  crushed  under,  leapt  up  chuckling  and  grin- 
ning and  tumbling  head  over  heels,  and  cried,  —  Now  I  shall 
have  a  holiday ! 

Sometimes  he  hoped  that  Torfrida  might  come  out  to  the 
shore,  and  settle  the  matter  in  one  moment,  by  a  glance  of  her 
great  hawk's  eyes.  If  she  would  but  quell  him  by  one  look ; 
leap  on  board,  seize  the  helm,  and  assume  without  a  word  the 
command  of  his  men  and  him ;  steer  them  back  to  Bourne,  and 
sit  down  beside  him  with  a  kiss,  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  If 
she  would  but  do  that,  and  ignore  the  past,  would  he  not  ignore 
it?  Would  he  not  forget  Alftruda,  and  King  William,  and  all 
the  world,  and  go  up  with  her  into  Sherwood,  and  then  north  to 
Scotland  and  Gospatrick,  and  be  a  man  once  more  ? 

No.  He  would  go  with  her  to  the  Baltic  or  the  Mediter- 
ranean. Constantinople  and  the  Varangers  would  be  the  place 
and  the  men.  Ay,  there  to  escape  out  of  that  charmed  ring 
into  a  new  life  ! 

No.  He  did  not  deserve  such  luck  ;  and  he  would  not  get  it. 
She  would  talk  it  all  out.  She  must,  for  she  was  a  woman. 
She  would  blame,  argue,  say  dreadful  words,  —  dreadful,  because 
true  and  deserved.  Then  she  would  grow  angry,  as  women  do 
when  they  are  most  in  the  right,  and  say  too  much,  —  dreadful 
words,  which  would  be  untrue  and  undeserved.  Then  he  should 
resist,  recriminate.  He  would  not  stand  it.  He  could  not  stand 
it.     No.     He  could  never  face  her  again. 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       349 

And  yet  if  he  had  seen  a  man  insult  her,  —  if  he  had  seen 
her  at  that  moment  in  peril  of  the  slightest  danger,  the  slightest 
bruise,  he  would  have  rushed  forward  like  a  madman,  and  died, 
saving  her  from  that  bruise.  And  he  knew  that :  and  with  the 
strange  self-contradiction  of  human  nature,  he  soothed  his  own 
conscience  by  the  thought  that  he  loved  her  still ;  and  that, 
therefore  —  somehow  or  other,  he  cared  not  to  make  out  how 
—  he  had  done  her  no  wrong.  Then  he  blustered  again,  for  the 
benefit  of  his  men.  He  would  teach  these  monks  of  Crowland  a 
lesson.     He  would  burn  the  minster  over  their  heads. 

"  That  would  be  pity,  seeing  they  are  the  only  Englishmen 
left  in  England,"  said  Siward  the  White,  his  nephew,  very  simply. 

"  What  is  that  to  thee  ?  Thou  hast  helped  to  burn  Peter- 
borough at  my  bidding ;  and  thou  shalt  help  to  burn  Crowland." 

"  I  am  a  free  gentleman  of  England  ;  and  what  I  choose,  I  do. 
I  and  my  brother  are  going  to  Constantinople  to  join  the  Varan- 
ger  guard,  and  shall  not  burn  Crowland,  or  let  any  man  burn  it." 

"Shall  not  let?" 

"  No,"  said  the  young  man,  so  quietly,  that  Hereward  was 
cowed. 

"I  —  I  only  meant  —  if  they  did  not  do  right  by  me." 

"  Do  right  thyself,"  said  Siward. 

Hereward  swore  awfully,  and  laid  his  hand  on  his  sword-hilt. 
But  he  did  not  draw  it ;  for  he  thought  he  saw  overhead  a  cloud 
which  was  very  like  the  figure  of  St.  Guthlac  in  Crowland  win- 
dow, and  an  awe  fell  upon  him  from  above. 

So  they  came  to  Crowland ;  and  Hereward  landed  and  beat 
upon  the  gates,  and  spoke  high  words.  But  the  monks  did  not 
open  the  gates  for  a  while.  At  last  the  gates  creaked,  and 
opened ;  and  in  the  gateway  stood  Abbot  Ulfketyl  in  his  robes 
of  state,  and  behind  him  Prior,  and  all  the  officers,  and  all  the 
monks  of  the  house. 

"  Comes  Hereward  in  peace  or  in  war  ?  " 

*'  In  war ! "  said  Hereward. 

Then  that  true  and  trusty  old  man,  who  sealed  his  patriotism, 
if  not  with  his  blood,  —  for  the  very  Normans  had  not  the  heart 
to  take  that,  —  still  with  long  and  bitter  sorrows,  lifted  up  his 
head,  and  said,  like  a  valiant  Dane,  as  his  name  bespoke  him : 
"  Against  the  traitor  and  the  adulterer  —  " 

"  I  am  neither,"  roared  Hereward. 

"  Thou  wouldst  be,  if  thou  couldst.  Whoso  looketh  upon  a 
woman  to  —  " 

*'  Preach  me  no  sermons,  man !     Let  rae  in  to  seek  my  wife." 

"  Over  my  body,"  said  Ulfketyl,  and  laid  himself  down  across 
the  threshold. 


350       HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

Hereward  recoiled.  If  he  had  dared  to  step  over  that  sacred 
body,  there  was  not  a  blood-stained  ruffian  in  his  crew  who  dared 
to  follow  him. 

"  Rise,  rise !  for  God's  sake.  Lord  Abbot,"  said  he.  "  What- 
ever I  am,  I  need  not  that  you  should  disgrace  me  thus.  Only 
let  me  see  her,  —  reason  with  her." 

"  She  has  vowed  herself  to  God,  and  is  none  of  thine  hence- 
forth." 

"  It  is  against  the  canons.     A  wrong  and  a  robbery." 

Ulfketyl  rose,  grand  as  ever. 

"  Hereward  Leofricsson,  our  joy  and  our  glory  once.  Hearken 
to  the  old  man  who  will  soon  go  whither  thine  Uncle  Brand  is 
gone,  and  be  free  of  Frenchmen,  and  of  all  this  wicked  world. 
When  the  walls  of  Crowlaud  dare  not  shelter  the  wronged  woman, 
fleeing  from  man's  treason  to  God's  faithfulness,  then  let  the  roofs 
of  Crowland  burn  till  the  flame  reaches  heaven,  for  a  sign  that 
the  children  of  God  are  as  false  as  the  children  of  this  world,  and 
break  their  faith  like  any  belted  knight." 

Hereward  was  silenced.  His  men  shrunk  back  from  him.  He 
felt  as  if  God,  and  the  Mother  of  God,  and  St.  Guthlac,  and  all 
the  host  of  heaven,  were  shrinking  back  from  him  likewise.  He 
turned  to  supplications,  compromises,  —  what  else  was  left. 

"  At  least  you  will  let  me  have  speech  of  her,  or  of  my  mother  ?  " 

"  They  must  answer  that,  not  I." 

Hereward  sent  in,  entreating  to  see  one,  or  both. 

"  Tell  him,"  said  Lady  Godiva,  "  who  calls  himself  my  son, 
that  my  sons  were  men  of  honor,  and  that  he  must  have  been 
changed  at  nurse." 

"  Tell  him,"  said  Torfrida,  "  that  I  have  lived  my  life,  and  am 
dead.     Dead.     If  he  would  see  me,  he  will  only  see  my  corpse." 

"  You  would  not  slay  yourself  ?  " 

"  What  is  there  that  I  dare  not  do  ?  You  do  not  know  Tor- 
frida.    He  does." 

And  Hereward  did ;  and  went  back  again  like  a  man  stunned. 

After  a  while  there  came  by  boat  to  Crowland  all  Torfrida's 
wealth :  clothes,  jewels :  not  a  shred  had  Hereward  kept.  The 
•magic  armor  came  with  them. 

Torfrida  gave  all  to  the  abbey,  there  and  then.  Only  the  ar- 
mor she  wrapped  up  in  the  white  bear's  skin,  and  sent  it  back 
to  Hereward,  with  her  blessing,  and  entreaty  not  to  refuse  that, 
her  last  bequest. 

Hereward  did  not  refuse,  for  very  shame.  But  for  very  shame 
ho  never  wore  that  armor  more.  For  very  shame  he  never  slept 
again  upon  the  white  bear's  skin,  on  which  he  and  his  true  love 
had  lain  so  many  a  year. 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       351 

And  Torfrida  turned  herself  utterly  to  serve  the  Lady  Godiva, 
and  to  teach  and  train  her  child  as  she  had  never  done  before, 
while  she  had  to  love  Hereward,  and  to  work  day  and  night,  with 
her  own  fingers,  for  all  his  men.  All  pride,  all  fierceness,  all  care 
of  self,  had  passed  away  from  her.  In  penitence,  humility,  obe- 
dience, and  gentleness,  she  went  on ;  never  smiling ;  but  never 
weeping.  Her  heart  was  broken ;  and  she  felt  it  good  for  herself 
to  let  it  break. 

And  Leofric  the  priest,  and  mad  Martin  Lightfoot,  watched  like 
two  dogs  for  her  going  out  and  coming  in ;  and  when  she  went 
among  the  poor  corrodiers,  and  nursed  the  sick,  and  taught  the 
children,  and  went  to  and  fro  upon  her  holy  errands,  blessing  and 
blessed,  the  two  wild  men  had  a  word  from  her  mouth,  or  a  kiss 
of  her  hand,  and  were  happy  all  the  day  after.  For  they  loved 
her  with  a  love  mightier  than  ever  Hereward  had  heaped  upon 
her  ;  for  she  had  given  him  all :  but  she  had  given  those  two  wild 
men  naught  but  the  beatific  vision  of  a  noble  woman. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 


HOW   HEEEWAED   LOST   SWORD   BRAIN-BITER. 

"  On  account  of  which,"  says  the  chronicler,  "  many  troubles 
came  to  Hereward  :  because  Torfrida  was  most  wise,  and  of  great 
counsel  in  need.  For  afterwards,  as  he  himself  confessed,  things 
went  not  so  well  with  him  as  they  did  in  her  time." 

And  the  first  thing  that  went  ill  was  this.  He  was  riding 
through  the  Bruneswald,  and  behind  him  Geri,  Wenoch,  and 
Matelgar,  these  three.  And  there  met  him  in  an  open  glade  a 
knight,  the  biggest  man  he  had  ever  seen,  on  the  biggest  horse, 
and  five  knights  behind  him.  He  was  an  Englishman,  and  not 
a  Frenchman,  by  his  dress ;  and  Hereward  spoke  courteously 
enough  to  him.  But  who  he  was,  and  what  his  business  was  in 
the  Bruneswald,  Hereward  thought  that  he  had  a  right  to  ask. 

"  Tell  me  who  thou  art,  who  askest,  before  I  tell  thee  who  I 
am  who  am  asked,  riding  here  on  common  land,"  quoth  the 
knight,  surlily  enough. 

"  I  am  Hereward,  without  whose  leave  no  man  has  ridden  the 
Bruneswald  for  many  a  day." 

"  And  I  am  Letwold  the  Englishman,  who  rides  whither  he 
will  in  merry  England,  without  care  for  any  Frenchman  upon 
earth." 

"  Frenchman  ?  Why  callest  thou  me  Frenchman,  man  ?  I 
am  Hereward." 

"  Then  thou  art,  if  tales  be  true,  as  French  as  Ivo  Taillebois. 
I  hear  that  thou  hast  left  thy  true  lady,  like  a  fool  and  a  churl, 
and  goest  to  London,  or  Winchester,  or  the  nether  pit,  —  I  care 
not  which,  —  to  make  thy  peace  with  the  Mamzer." 

The  man  was  a  surly  brute :  but  what  he  said  was  so  true,  that 
Hereward's  wrath  arose.  He  had  promised  Torfrida  many  a 
time,  never  to  quarrel  with  an  Englishman,  but  to  endure  all 
things.  Now,  out  of  very  spite  to  Torfrida's  counsel,  because  it 
was  Torfrida's,  and  he  had  promised  to  obey  it,  he  took  up  the 
quarrel. 

"  If  I  am  a  fool  and  a  churl,  thou  art  a  greater  fool,  to  provoke 
thine  own  deatli ;  and  a  greater  —  " 

"  Spare  your  breath,"  said  the  big  man,  "  and  let  me  try  Here- 
ward, as  I  have  many  another." 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGUSB.  353 

Whereon  they  dropped  their  lance-point?,  and  rode  at  each 
other  like  two  mad  bulls.  And,  by  the  contagion  of  folly  com- 
ipon  in  the  middle  age,  at  each  other  rode  Hereward's  three 
knights  and  Letwold's  five.  The  two  leaders  found  themselves 
both  rolling  on  the  ground ;  jumped  up,  drew  their  swords,  and 
hewed  away  at  each  other.  Geri  unhorsed  his  man  at  the  first 
charge,  and  left  him  stunned.  Then  he  turned  on  another,  and 
did  the  same  by  him.  Wenoch  and  Matelgar  each  up-^et  their 
man.  The  fifth  of  Letwold's  knights  threw  up  his  lance-point, 
not  liking  his  new  company.  Geri  and  the  other  two  rode  in  on 
the  two  chiefs,  who  were  fighting  hard,  each  under  shield. 

"  Stand  back ! "  roared  Hereward,  "  and  give  the  knight  fair 
play !  When  did  any  one  of  us  want  a  man  to  help  him  ?  Kill 
or  die  single,  has  been  our  rule,  and  shall  be." 

They  threw  up  their  lance-points,  and  stood  round  to  see  that 
great  fight.  Letwold's  knight  rode  in  among  them,  and  stood 
likewise ;  and  friend  and  foe  looked  on,  as  they  might  at  a  pair 
of  game-cocks. 

Hereward  had,  to  his  own  surprise  and  that  of  his  fellows,  met 
his  match.  The  sparks  flew,  the  iron  clanged ;  but  so  heavy 
were  the  stranger's  strokes,  that  Hereward  reeled  again  and 
again.  So  sure  was  the  guard  of  his  shield,  that  Hereward 
could  not  wound  him,  hit  where  he  would.  At  last  he  dealt  a 
furious  blow  on  the  stranger's  head. 

"  If  that  does  not  bring  your  master  down ! "  quoth  Geri. 
*'  By  — ,  Brain-biter  is  gone  !  " 

It  was  too  true.  Sword  Brain-biter's  end  was  come.  The 
Ogre's  magic  blade  had  snapt  off  short  by  the  handle. 

"  Your  master  is  a  true  Englishman,  by  the  hardness  of  his 
brains,"  quoth  Wenoch,  as  the  stranger,  reeling  for  a  moment, 
lifted  up  his  head,  and  stared  at  Hereward  in  the  face,  doubtful 
what  to  do. 

"  Will  you  yield,  or  fight  on  ?  "  cried  he. 

"  Yield  ?  "  shouted  Hereward,  rushing  upon  him,  as  a  mastiff 
might  on  a  lion,  and  striking  at  his  helm,  though  shorter  than 
him  by  a  head  and  shoulders,  such  swift  and  terrible  blows  with 
the  broken  hilt,  as  staggered  the  tall  stranger. 

"  What  are  you  at,  forgetting  what  you  have  at  your  side  ?  " 
roared  Geri. 

Hereward  sprang  back.  He  had,  as  was  his  custom,  a  second 
sword  on  his  right  thig-h.  ' 

"  I  forget  everything  now,"  said  he  to  himself  angrily. 

And  that  was  too  true.  But  he  drew  the  second  sword,  and 
sprang  at  his  man  once  more. 

The  stranger  tried,  according  to  the  chronicler,  who  probably 

w 


854      HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

had  it  from  one  of  the  three  by-standers,  a  blow  which  has  cost 
many  a  brave  man  his  life.  He  struck  right  down  on  Hereward's 
head.  Hereward  raised  his  shield,  warding  the  stroke,  and 
threw  in  that  coup  de  j arret,  which  there  is  no  guarding,  after 
the  downright  blow  has  been  given.  The  stranger  dropped  upon 
his  wounded  knee. 

"  Yield,"  cried  Hereward  in  his  turn. 

"  That  is  not  my  fashion."  And  the  stranger  fought  on,  upon 
his  stumps,  like  Witherington  in  Chevy  Chase. 

Hereward,  mad  with  the  sight  of  blood,  struck  at  him  four  or 
five  times.  The  stranger's  shield  was  so  quick  that  he  could  not 
hit  him,  even  on  his  knee.  He  held  his  hand,  and  drew  back, 
looking  at  his  new  rival. 

"  What  the  murrain  are  we  two  fighting  about  ?  "  said  he  at 
last. 

"  I  know  not ;  neither  care,"  said  the  other,  with  a  grim  chuckle. 
"  But  if  any  man  will  fight  me,  him  I  fight,  ever  since  I  had 
beard  to  my  chin." 

"  Thou  art  the  best  man  that  ever  I  faced." 

"  That  is  like  enough." 

"  What  wilt  thou  take,  if  I  give  thee  thy  life  ?  " 

"  My  way  on  which  I  was  going.  For  I  turn  back  for  no 
man  alive  on  land." 

"  Then  thou  hast  not  had  enough  of  me  ?  " 

"  Not  by  another  hour." 

"  Thou  must  be  born  of  fiend,  and  not  of  man." 

"  Very  like.     It  is  a  wise  son  knows  his  own  father." 

Hereward  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Would  to  heaven  I  had  had  thee  for  my  man  this  three  years 
since." 

"  Perhaps  I  would  not  have  been  thy  man." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  I  have  been  my  own  man  ever  since  I  was  born, 
and  am  well  content  with  myself  for  my  master." 

"  Shall  I  bind  up  thy  leg  ?  "  asked  Hereward,  having  no  more 
to  say,  and  not  wishing  to  kill  the  man. 

"  No.     It  will  grow  again,  like  a  crab's  claw." 

"  Thou  art  a  fiend."  And  Hereward  turned  away,  sulky,  and 
half  afraid. 

"  Very  like.     No  man  knows  what  a  devil  he  is,  till  he  tries." 

"  What  dost  mean  ?  "  and  Hereward  turned  angrily  back. 

"  Fiends  we  are  all,  till  God's  grace  comes." 

"  Little  grace  has  come  to  thee  yet,  by  thy  ungracious  tongue." 

"  Rough  to  men,  may  be  gracious  to  women." 

"  What  hast  thou  to  do  with  women  ? "  asked  Hereward, 
fiercely. 


HEEEWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE   ENGLISH.  355 

"  I  have  a  wife,  and  I  love  her." 

"  Thou  art  not  like  to  get  back  to  her  to-day." 

"  I  fear  not,  with  this  paltry  scratch.  I  had  looked  for  a  cut 
from  thee,  would  have  saved  me  all  fighting  henceforth." 

"  What  dost  mean  ?  "  asked  Hereward,  with  an  oath. 

"  That  my  wife  is  jn  heaven,  and  I  would  needs  follow  her." 

Hereward  got  on  his  horse,  and  rode  away.  Never  could  he 
find  out  who  that  Sir  Letwold  was,  or  how  he  came  into  the 
Bruneswald.  All  he  knew  was,  that  he  never  had  had  such  a 
fight  since  he  wore  beard ;  and  that  he  had  lost  Sword  Brain- 
biter  :  from  which  his  evil  conscience  augured  that  his  luck  had 
turned,  and  that  he  should  lose  many  things  beside. 


CHAPTER    XXXV.III. 


HOW  HEREWARD   CAME  IN   TO  THE  KING. 

After  these  things  Hereward  summoiied  ^11  his  tatft,  tintl  set 
before  them  the  hopelessness  of  any  further  resistance,  and  the 
promises  of  amnesty,  lands,  and  honors  which  William  had  offered 
him,  and  persuaded  them  —  and  indeed  he  had  good  arguments 
enough  and  to  spare  —  that  they  should  go  and  make  their  peace 
with  the  King. 

They  were  so  accustomed  to  look  up  to  his  determination,  that 
when  it  gave  way  theirs  gave  way  likewise.  They  were  so  ac- 
customed to  trust  his  wisdom,  that  most  of  them  yielded  at  once 
to  his  arguments. 

That  the  band  should  break  up,  all  agreed.  A  few  of  the  more 
suspicious,  or  more  desperate,  said  that  they  could  never  trust  the 
Norman ;  that  Hereward  himself  had  warned  them  again  and 
again  of  his  treachery.  That  he  was  now  going  to  do  himself 
what  he  had  laughed  at  Gospatrick  and  the  rest  for  doing ;  what 
had  brought  ruin  on  Edwin  and  Morcar ;  what  he  had  again  and 
again  prophesied  would  bring  ruin  on  Waltheof  himself  ere  all 
was  over. 

But  Hereward  was  deaf  to  their  arguments.  He  had  said  as 
little  to  them  as  he  could  about  Alftruda,  for  very  shame ;  but  he 
was  utterly  besotted  on  her.  For  her  sake,  he  had  determined 
to  run  his  head  blindly  into  the  very  snare  of  which  he  had 
warned  others.  And  he  had  seared  —  so  he  fancied  —  his  con- 
science. It  was  Torfrida's  fault  now,  not  his.  If  she  left  him,  — 
if  she  herself  freed  him  of  her  own  will,  —  why,  he  was  free,  and 
there  was  no  more  to  be  said  about  it. 

And  Hereward  (says  the  chronicler)  took  Gwenoch,  Geri,  and 
Matelgar,  and  rode  south  to  the  King. 

Where  were  the  two  young  Siwards  ?  It  is  not  said.  Proba- 
bly they,  and  a  few  desperadoes,  followed  the  fashion  of  so  many 
Eiiglish  in  those  sad  days,  —  when,  as  sings  the  Norse  skald, 

"  Cold  heart  and  bloody  hand 
Now  rule  English  land,"  — 

and  took  ship  for  Constantinople,  and  enlisted  in  the  Varanger 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH,      357 

guard,  and  died  full  of  years  and  honors,  leaving  fair-haired  chil- 
dren behind  them,  to  become  Varangers  in  their  turn. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  Hereward  rode  south.  But  when  he  had 
gotten  a  long  way  upon  the  road,  a  fancy  (says  the  chronicler) 
came  over  him.  He  was  not  going  in  pomp  and  glory  enough. 
It  seemed  mean  for  the  once  great  Hereward  to  sneak  into  Win- 
chester with  three  knights.  Perhaps  it  seemed  not  over  safe  for 
the  once  great  Hereward  to  travel  with  only  three  knights.  So 
he  went  back  all  the  way  to  camp,  and  took  (says  the  chronicler) 
"  forty  most  famous  knights,  all  big  and  tall  of  stature,  and  splen- 
did,—  if  from  nothing  else,  from  their  looks  and  their  harness 
alone." 

So  Hereward  and  those  forty  knights  rode  down  from  Peter- 
borough, along  the  Roman  road.  For  the  Roman  roads  were 
then,  and  for  centuries  after,  the  only  roads  in  this  land;  and  our 
forefathers  looked  on  them  as  the  work  of  gods  and  giants,  and 
called  them  after  the  names  of  their  old  gods  and  heroes,  —  Irmen 
Street,  Watling  Street,  and  so  forth. 

And  then,  like  true  Englishmen,  our  own  forefathers  showed 
their  respect  for  the  said  divine  works,  not  by  copying  them,  but 
by  picking  them  to  pieces  to  pave  every  man  his  own  court-yai'd. 
Be  it  so.  The  neglect  of  new  roads,  the  destruction  of  the  old 
ones,  was  a  natural  evil  consequence  of  local  self-government. 
A  cheap  price,  perhaps,  after  all,  to  pay  for  that  power  of  local 
self-government  which  has  kept  England  free  unto  this  day. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  down  the  Roman  road  Hereward  went ;  past 
Alconbury  Hill,  of  the  old  posting  days ;  past  Wimpole  Park, 
then  deep  forest ;  past  Hatfield,  then  deep  forest  likewise ;  and 
so  to  St.  Alban's.  And  there  they  lodged  in  the  minster ;  for  the 
monks  thereof  were  good  English,  and  sang  masses  daily  for  King 
Harold's  soul.  And  the  next  day  they  went  south,  by  ways  which 
are  not  so  clear. 

Just  outside  St.  Alban's  —  Verulamium  of  the  Romans  (the 
ruins  whereof  were  believed  to  be  full  of  ghosts,  demons,  and 
magic  treasures) — they  turned,  at  St.  Stephen's,  to  the  left,  off 
the  Roman  road  to  London ;  and  by  another  Roman  road  struck 
into  the  vast  forest  which  ringed  London  round  from  northeast 
to  southwest.  Following  the  upper  waters  of  the  Colne,  which 
ran  through  the  woods  on  their  left,  they  came  to  Watford,  and 
then  turned  probably  to  Rickmansworth.  No  longer  on  the  Ro- 
man paved  ways,  they  followed  horse-tracks,  between  the  forest 
and  the  rich  marsh-meadows  of  the  Colne,  as  far  as  Denham, 
and  then  struck  into  a  Roman  road  again  at  the  north  end  of 
Langley  Park.  From  thence,  over  heathy  commons,  —  for  that 
western  part  of  Buckinghamshire,  its  soil  being  light  and  some 


358  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

gravel,  was  little  cultivated  then,  and  hardly  all  cultivated  now,— 
they  held  on  straight  by  Langley  town  into  the  Vale  of  Thames. 

Little  they  dreamed,  as  they  rode  down  by  Ditton  Green,  off 
the  heathy  common?,  past  the  poor,  scattered  farms,  on  to  the 
vast  rushy  meadows,  while  upon  them  was  the  dull  weight  of 
disappointment,  shame,  all  but  despair;  their  race  enslaved,  their 
country  a  prey  to  strangers,  and  all  its  future,  like  their  own,  a 
lurid  blank,  —  little  they  dreamed  of  what  that  vale  would  be 
witliin  eight  hundred  years,  —  the  eye  of  England,  and  it  may 
be  of  the  world ;  a  spot  which  owns  more  wealth  and  peace,  more 
art  and  civilization,  more  beauty  and  more  virtue,  it  may  be, 
than  any  of  God's  gardens  which  make  fair  this  earth.  Wind- 
sor, on  its  crowded  steep,  was  to  them  but  a  new  hunting  palace 
of  the  old  miracle-monger  Edward,  who  had  just  ruined  Eng- 
land. 

Runnyraede,  a  mile  below  them  down  the  broad  stream,  was 
but  a  horse-fen  fringed  with  water-lilies,  where  the  men  of  Wes- 
sex  had  met  of  old  to  counsel,  and  to  bring  the  country  to  this 
pass.  And  as  they  crossed,  by  ford  or  ferry-boat,  the  shallows  of 
old  Windsor,  whither  they  had  been  tending  all  along,  and  struck 
into  the  moorlands  of  Wessex  itself,  they  were  as  men  going  into 
an  unknown  wilderness  :  behind  them  ruin,  and  before  them  un- 
known danger. 

On  through  Windsor  Forest,  Edward  the  Saint's  old  hunting- 
ground  ;  its  bottoms  choked  with  beech  and  oak,  and  birch  and 
alder  scrub ;  its  upper  lands  vast  flats  of  level  heath  ;  along  the 
great  trackway  which  runs  along  the  lower  side  of  Chobham 
Camp,  some  quarter  of  a  mile  broad,  every  rut  and  trackway  as 
fresh  at  this  day  as  when  the  ancient  Briton,  finding  that  his 
neighbor's  essedum  —  chariot,  or  rather  cart  —  had  worn  the  ruts 
too  deep,  struck  out  a  fresh  wandering  line  for  himself  across  the 
dreary  heath. 

Over  the  Blackwater  by  Sandhurst,  and  along  the  flats  of 
Hartford  Bridge,  where  the  old  furze-grown  ruts  show  the  track- 
way to  this  day.  Down  into  the  clayland  forests  of  the  Andreds- 
weald,  and  up  out  of  them  again  at  Basing,  on  to  the  clean  crisp 
chalk  turf;  to  strike  at  Popham  Lane  the  Roman  road  from  Sii- 
chester,  and  hold  it  over  the  high  downs,  till  they  saw  far  below 
them  the  royal  city  of  Winchester. 

Itchen,  silver  as  they  looked  on  her  from  above,  but  when  they 
came  down  to  her,  so  clear  that  none  could  see  where  water  ended 
and  where  air  began,  hurried  through  the  city  in  many  a  stream. 
Beyond  it  rose  the  "  White  Camp,"  the  "  Venta  Belgarum,"  the 
circular  earthwork  of  white  chalk  on  the  high  down.  Within  the 
city  rose  the  ancient  minster  church,  built  by  Ethelwold,  —  an- 


HEREWARD,  THE   LAST   OF  THE   ENGLISH.  359 

cient  even  then,  —  where  slept  the  ancient  kings  ;  Kennulf,  Eg- 
bert, and  Ethelwulf  the  Saxons  ;  and  by  them  the  Dane>,  Canute 
the  Great,  and  Hardacanute  his  son,  and  Norman  Emma  his  wife, 
and  Ethelred's  before  him ;  and  the  great  Earl  Godwin,  who 
seemed  to  Hereward  to  have  died,  not  twenty,  but  two  hundred 
years  ago;  —  and  it  may  be  an  old  Saxon  hall  upon  the  little  isle 
whither  Edgar  had  bidden  bring  the  heads  of  all  the  wolves  in 
Wessex,  where  afterwards  the  bishops  built  Wolvesey  Palace. 
But  nearer  to  them,  on  the  down  which  sloped  up  to  the  west, 
stood  an  uglier  thing,  which  they  saw  with  curses  deep  and  loud, 
—  the  keep  of  the  new  Norman  castle  by  the  west  gate. 

Hereward  halted  his  knights  upon  the  down  outside  the  north- 
ern gate.  Then  he  rode  forwai'd  himself.  The  gate  was  open 
wide  ;  but  he  did  not  care  to  go  in. 

So  he  rode  into  the  gateway,  and  smote  upon  that  gate  with 
his  lance-but.  But  the  porter  saw  the  knights  upon  the  down, 
and  was  afraid  to  come  out ;   for  he  feared  treason. 

Then  Hereward  smote  a  second  time  ;  but  the  porter  did  not 
come  out. 

Then  he  took  the  lance  by  the  shaft,  and  smote  a  third  time. 
And  he  smote  so  hard,  that  the  lance-but  flew  to  flinders  against 
Winchester  Gate. 

And  at  that  started  out  two  knights,  who  had  come  down  from 
the  castle,  seeing  the  meinie  on  the  down,  and  asked,  — 

"  Who  art  thou  who  knockest  here  so  bold  ?" 

"  Who  I  am  any  man  can  see  by  those  splinters,  if  he  knows 
what  men  are  left  in  England  this  day." 

The  knights  looked  at  the  broken  wood,  and  then  at  each  other. 
Who  could  the  man  be  who  could  beat  an  ash  stave  to  flinders  at 
a  single  blow  ? 

"  You  are  young,  and  do  not  know  me  ;  and  no  shame  to  you. 
Go  and  tell  William  the  King,  that  Hereward  is  come  to  put  his 
hands  between  the  King's,  and  be  the  King's  man  henceforth." 

"  You  are  Hereward  ?  "  asked  one,  half  awed,  half  disbelieving 
at  Hereward's  short  stature. 

"  You  are  —  I  know  not  who.  Pick  up  those  splinters,  and 
take  them  to  King  William  ;  and  say,  '  The  man  who  broke-  that 
lance  against  the  gate  is  here  to  make  his  peace  with  thee,'  and 
he  will  know  who  I  am." 

And  so  cowed  were  these  two  knights  with  Hereward's  royal 
voice,  and  royal  eye,  and  royal  strength,  that  they  went  simply, 
and  did  what  he  bade  them. 

And  when  King  William  saw  the.  splinters,  he  was  as  joyful  as 
man  could  be,  and  said,  — 

"  Send  him  to  me,  and  tell  him,  Bright  shines  the  sun  to  me 
that  lights  Hereward  into  Winchester." 


360  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

"  But,  Lord  King,  he  has  with  him  a  meinie  of  full  forty 
knights." 

"  So  much  the  better.  I  shall  have  the  more  valiant  English- 
men to  help  my  valiant  French." 

So  Hereward  rode  round,  outside  the  walls,  to  William's  new 
entrenched  palace,  outside  the  west  gate,  by  the  castle. 

And  thpn  Hereward  went  in,  and  knelt  before  the  Norman, 
and  put  his  hands  between  William's  hands,  and  swore  to  be  his 
man. 

"  I  have  kept  my  word,"  said  he,  "  which  I  sent  to  thee  at 
Rouen  seven  years  agone.  Thou  art  King  of  all  England  ;  and 
I  am  the  last  man  to  say  so." 

"  And  since  thou  hast  said  it,  I  am  King  indeed.  Come  with 
me,  and  dine  ;  and  to-morrow  I  will  see  thy  knights." 

And  William  walked  out  of  the  hall  leaning  on  Hereward'a 
shoulder,  at  which  all  the  Noi*mans  gnashed  their  teeth  with 
envy. 

"  And  for  my  knights,  Lord  King?  Thine  and  mine  will  mix, 
for  a  while  yet,  like  oil  and  water ;  and  I  fear  lest  there  be  mur- 
der done  between  them." 

"  Likely  enough." 

So  the  knights  were  bestowed  in  a  "  vill "  near  by ;  "  and  the 
next  day  the  venerable  king  himself  went  forth  to  see  those 
knights,  and  caused  them  to  stand,  and  march  before  him,  both 
with  arms,  and  without.  With  whom  being  much  delighted,  he 
praised  them,  congratulating  them  on  their  beauty  and  stature, 
and  saying  that  they  must  all  be  knights  of  fame  in  war."  After 
which  Hereward  sent  them  all  home  except  two  ;  and  waited  till 
he  should  marry  Alftruda,  and  get  back  his  heritage. 

"  And  when  that  happens,"  said  William,  "  why  should  we  not 
have  two  weddings,  beausire,  as  well  as  one  ?  I  hear  that  you 
have  in  Crowland  a  fair  daughter,  and  marriageable." 

Hereward  bowed. 

"  And  I  have  found  a  husband  for  her  suitable  to  her  years, 
and  who  may  conduce  to  your  peace  and  serenity." 

Hereward  bit  his  lip.  To  refuse  was  impossible  in  those  days. 
But  — 

"  I  trust  that  your  Grace  has  found  a  knight  of  higher  lineage 
than  him,  whom,  after  so  many  honors,  you  honored  with  the 
hand  of  my  niece." 

William  laughed.  It  was  not  his  interest  to  quarrel  with  Here- 
ward. "  Aha !  Ivo,  the  wood-cutter's  son.  I  ask  your  pardon 
for  that.  Sir  Hereward.  Had  you  been  my  man  then,  as  you  are 
now,  it  might  have  been  different." 

"  If  a  king  ask  my  pardon,  I  can  only  ask  his  in  return." 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       861 

"  You  must  be  friends  with  Taillebois.  He  is  a  brave  knight, 
and  a  wise  warrior." 

"  None  ever  doubted  that." 

"And  to  cover  any  little  blots  in  his  escutcheon,  I  have  made 
him  an  earl,  as  I  may  make  you  some  day." 

"  Your  Majesty,  hke  a  true  king,  knows  how  to  reward.  Who 
is  this  knight  whom  you  have  chosen  for  my  lass  ?  " 

"  Sir  Hugh  of  Evermue,  a  neighbor  of  yours,  and  a  man  of 
blood  and  breeding." 

"  I  know  him.  and  his  lineage  ;  and  it  is  very  well.  I  humbly 
thank  your  Majesty." 

"  Can  I  be  the  same  man  ? "  said  Here  ward  to  himself, 
bitterly. 

And  he  was  not  the  same  man.  He  was  besotted  on  Alftruda, 
and  humbled  himself  accordingly. 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

HOW  TORFRroA   CONFESSED   THAT   SHE   HAD   BEEN  INSPIRED 
BY   THE   DEVIL. 

After  a  few  days,  there  came  down  a  priest  to  Crowland,  and 
talked  with  Torfrida,  in  Archbishop  Lanfranc's  name. 

Whether  Lanfranc  sent  him,  or  merely  (as  is  probable)  Alf- 
truda,  he  could  not  have  come  in  a  more  fit  name.  Torfrida  kne^r 
(with  all  the  world)  how  Lanfranc  had  arranged  William  the  Nor- 
man's uncanonical  marriage,  with  the  Pope,  by  help  of  Arch- 
deacon Hildebrand  (afterwards  Pope  himself)  ;  and  had  changed 
his  mind  deftly  to  William's  side  when  he  saw  that  William  might 
be  useful  to  Holy  Church,  and  could  enslave,  if  duly  managed, 
not  only  the  nation  of  England  to  himself,  but  the  clergy  of  Eng- 
land to  Rome.  All  this  Torfrida,  and  the  world,  knew.  And 
therefore  she  answered  :  — 

"  Lanfranc  ?  I  can  hardly  credit  you  :  for  I  hear  that  he  is  a 
good  man,  though  hard.  But  he  has  settled  a  queen's  mari'iage 
suit ;  so  he  may  very  well  settle  mine."      , 

After  which  they  talked  together ;  and  she  answered  him,  the 
priest  said,  so  wisely  and  well,  that  he  never  had  met  with  a 
woman  of  so  clear  a  brain,  or  of  so  stout  a  heart. 

At  last,  being  puzzled  to  get  that  which  he  wanted,  he  touched 
on  the  matter  of  her  marriage  with  Hereward. 

She  wished  it,  he  said,  dissolved.  She  wished  herself  to  enter 
religion. 

Archbishop  Lanfranc  would  be  most  happy  to  sanction  so  holy 
a  desire,  but  there  were  objections.  She  was  a  married  woman ; 
and  her  husband  had  not  given  his  consent. 

"  Let  him  give  it,  then." 

There  were  still  objections.  He  had  nothing  to  bring  against 
her,  which  could  justify  the  dissolution  of  the  holy  bond :  un- 
less—» 

*'  Unless  I  bring  some  myself?  " 

"  There  have  been  rumors  —  I  say  not  how  true  —  of  magic 
and  sorcery  !  —  " 

Torfrida  leaped  up  from  her  seat,  and  laughed  such  a  laugh, 
that  the  priest  said  in  after  years,  it  rung  through  his  head  as  if 
it  had  arisen  out  of  the  pit  of  the  lost. 


HEEEWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  363 

"  So  that  is  what  you  want,  Churchman !  Then  you  shall  have 
it.  Bring  me  pen  and  ink.  I  need  not  to  confess  to  you.  You 
shall  read  my  confession  when  it  is  done.  I  am  a  better  scribe, 
mind  you,  than  any  clerk  between  here  and  Paris." 

She  seized  the  pen  and  ink,  and  wrote ;  not  fiercely,  as  the 
priest  expected,  but  slowly  and  carefully.  Then  she  gave  it 
the  priest  to  read. 

"  Will  that  do.  Churchman  ?  Will  that  free  my  soul,  and  that 
of  your  French  Archbishop  ?  " 

And  the  priest  read  to  himself. 

How  Torfrida  of  St.  Omer,  bom  at  Aries  in  Provence,  confest 
that  from  her  youth  up  she  had  been  given  to  the  practice  of  dia- 
bolic arts,  and  had  at  divers  times  and  places  used  the  same,  both 
alone  and  with  Richilda,  late  Countess  of  Hainault.  How, 
wickedly,  wantonly,  and  instinct  with  a  malignant  spirit,  she  had 
compassed,  by  charms  and  spells,  to  win  the  love  of  Hereward. 
How  she  had  ever  since  kept  in  bondage  him,  and  others  whom 
she  had  not  loved  with  the  same  carnal  love,  but  only  desired  to 
make  them  useful  to  her  own  desire  of  power  and  glory,  by  the 
same  magical  arts ;  for  which  she  now  humbly  begged  pardon  of 
Holy  Church,  and  of  all  Christian  folk  ;  and,  penetrated  with  com- 
punction, desired  only  that  she  might  retire  into  the  convent  of 
Crowland.  She  asserted  the  marriage  which  she  had  so  unlaw- 
fully compassed  to  be  nuU  and  void ;  and  prayed  to  be  released 
therefrom,  as  a  burden  to  her  conscience  and  soul,  that  she  might 
spend  the  rest  of  her  life  in  penitence  for  her  many  enormous 
sins.  She  submitted  herself  to  the  judgment  of  Holy  Church, 
only  begging  that  this  her  free  confession  might  be  counted  in 
her  favor  and  that  she  might  not  be  put  to  death,  as  she  deserved, 
nor  sent  into  perpetual  imprisonment ;  because  her  mother-in-law 
according  to  the  flesh,  the  Countess  Godiva,  being  old  and  infirm, 
had  daily  need  of  her ;  and  she  wished  to  serve  her  menially  aa 
long  as  she  lived.  After  which,  she  put  herself  utterly  upon  the 
judgment  of  the  Church.  And  meanwhile,  she  desired  and 
prayed  that  she  might  be  allowed  to  remain  at  large  in  the  said 
monastery  of  Crowland,  not  leaving  the  precincts  thereof,  without 
special  leave  given  by  the  Abbot  and  prioress  in  one  case  between 
her  and  them  reserved ;  to  wear  garments  of  hair-cloth ;  to  fast 
all  the  year  on  bread  and  water ;  and  to  be  disciplined  with  rods 
or  otherwise,  at  such  times  as  the  prioress  should  command,  and 
to  such  degree  as  her  body,  softened  with  carnal  luxury,  could 
reasonably  endure.  And  beyond  —  that,  being  dead  to  the  world, 
God  might  have  mercy  on  her  soul. 

And  she  meant  what  she  said.  The  madness  of  remorse  and 
dif^appointment,  so  common  in  the  wild  middle  age,  had  come 
over  her ;  and  with  it  the  twin  madness  of  self-torture. 


8j54  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

• 

The  priest  read,  and  trembled  ;  not  for  Torfrida :  but  for  him- 
self, lest  she  should  enchant  him  after  all. 

"  She  must  have  been  an  awful  sinner,"  said  he  to  the  monks 
when  he  got  safe  out  of  the  room  ;  "  comparable  only  to  the 
witch  of  Endor,  or  the  woman  Jezebel,  of  whom  St.  John  writes 
in  the  Revelations." 

"  I  do  not  know  how  you  Frenchmen  measure  folks,  when  you 
see  them  ;  but  to  our  mind  she  is,  —  for  goodness,  humility,  and 
patience  comparable  only  to  an  angel  of  God,"  said  Abbot 
Ulfketyl. 

"  You  Englishmen  will  have  to  change  your  minds  on  many 
points,  if  you  mean  to  stay  here." 

"  "We  shall  not  change  them,  and  we  shall  stay  here,"  quoth 
the  Abbot. 

"  How  ?  You  will  not  get  Sweyn  and  his  Danes  to  help  you 
a  second  time." 

"  No,  we  shall  all  die,  and  give  you  your  wills,  and  you  will  not 
have  the  heart  to  cast  our  bones  into  the  fens  ?  " 

"  Not  unless  you  intend  to  work  miracles,  and  set  up  for  saints, 
like  your  Alphege  Edmund." 

"  Heaven  forbid  that  we  should  compare  ourselves  with  them ! 
Only  let  us  alone  till  we  die." 

"  If  you  let  us  alone,  and  do  not  turn  traitor  meanwhile." 

Abbot  Ulfketyl  bit  his  lip,  and  kept  down  the  rising  fiend. 

"  And  now,"  said  the  priest,  "  deliver  me  over  Torfrida  the 
younger,  daughter  of  Hereward  and  this  woman,  that  I  may  take 
her  to  the  King,  who  has  found  a  fit  husband  for  her." 

"  You  will  hardly  get  her." 

"  Not  get  her  ?  " 

"  Not  \vithout  her  mother's  consent.  The  lass  cares  for  naught 
but  her." 

"  Pish  !  that  sorceress  ?     Send  for  the  girl." 

Abbot  Ulfketyl,  forced  in  his  own  abbey,  great  and  august 
lord  though  he  was,  to  obey  any  upstart  of  a  Norman  priest  who 
came  backed  by  the  King  and  Lanfranc,  sent  for  the  lass. 

The  young  outlaw  came  in,  —  hawk  on  fist,  and  its  hood  olT, 
for  it  was  a  pet,  —  short,  sturdy,  upright,  brown-Iiaired,  blue-eyt:d, 
ill-dressed,  with  hard  hands  and  sun-burnt  face,  but  with  the 
hawk-eye  of  her  father,  and  her  mother,  and  the  hawks  among 
which  she  was  bred.  She  looked  the  pi-iest  over  from  head  to 
foot,  till  he  was  abashed. 

"  A  Frenchman  ! "  said  she,  and  she  said  no  more. 

The  priest  looked  at  her  eyes,  and  then  at  tlie  hawk'a  eyes. 
They  were  disagreeably  like  each  other.  He  told  his  errand  as 
courteously  as  he  could,  for  he  was  not  a  bad-hearted  man  for  a 
Norman  priest. 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       365 

Tho  Ia?s  laughed  him  to  scorn.  The  King's  commands  ?  iShe 
never  saw  a  king  in  the  greenwood,  and  cared  for  none.  There 
was  no  king  in  P^ngland  now,  since  Sweyn  Ulfsson  sailed  back  to 
Denmark.  Who  was  this  Norman  William,  to  sell  a  free  English 
lass  like  a  colt  or  a  cow  ?  The  priest  might  go  back  to  the  slaves 
of  Wessex,  and  command  them  if  he  could ;  but  in  the  fens,  men 
were  free,  and  lasses  too. 

The  priest  was  piously  shocked  and  indignant ;  and  began  to 
argue. 

She  played  with  her  hawk,  instead  of  listening,  and  then  was 
marching  out  of  the  room. 

''  Your  mother,"  said  he,  "  is  a  sorceress." 

"  You  are  a  knave,  or  set  on  by  knaves.  You  lie,  and  you 
know  you  lie."     And  she  turned  away  again. 

"  She  has  confessed  it." 

"  You  have  driven  her  mad  between  you,  till  she  will  confess 
anything.  I  presume  you  threatened  to  burn  her,  as  some  of 
you  did  awhile  back."  And  the  young  lady  made  use  of  words 
equally  strong  and  true. 

The  priest  was  not  accustomed  to  the  direct  language  of  the 
greenwood,  and  indignant  on  his  own  account,  threatened,  and 
finally  offered  to  use,  force.  Whereon  there  looked  up  into  his 
face  such  a  demon  (so  he  said)  as  he  never  had  seen  or  dreamed 
of,  and  said  :  "  If  you  lay  a  finger  on  me,  I  will  brittle  you  like 
any  deer."  And  therewith  pulled  out  a  saying-knife,  about  half 
as  long  again  as  the  said  priest's  hand,  being  very  sharp,  so  he 
deposed,  down  the  whole  length  of  one  edge,  and  likewise  down 
his  little  finger's  length  of  the  other. 

Not  being  versed  in  the  terms  of  English  venery,  he  asked 
Abbot  Ulfketyl  what  brittling  of  a  deer  might  mean  ;  and  being 
informed  that  it  was  that  operation  on  the  carcass  of  a  stag 
which  his  countrymen  called  eventrer,  and  Highland  gillies  now 
"  gralloching,"  he  subsided,  and  thought  it  best  to  go  and  consult 
the  young  lady's  mother. 

She,  to  his  astonishment,  submitted  at  once  and  utterly.  The 
King,  and  he  whom  she  had  called  her  husband,  were  very 
gracious.  It  was  all  well.  She  would  have  preferred,  and  the 
Lady  Godiva  too,  after  their  experience  of  the  world  and  the 
fiesh,  to  have  devoted  her  daughtt>r  to  Heaven  in  the  minster 
there.  But  she  was  unworthy.  Who  was  she,  to  train  a  bride 
for  Him  who  died  on  Cross?  She  accepted  this  as  part  of  her 
penance,  with  thankfulness  and  humility.  She  had  heard  that 
Sir  Hugh  of  Evermue  was  a  gentleman  of  ancient  birtli  and 
good  prowess,  and  she  thanked  the  King  for  his  clioice.  Let  the 
priest  tell  her  daughter  that  she  commanded  her  to  go  with  him 
to  Winchester,     She  did  not  wish  to  see  her.     She  wa^  staiaed 


366      HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

with  many  crimes,  and  unworthy  to  approach  a  pure  maiden. 
Besides,  it  would  only  cause  misery  and  tears.  She  was  trying 
to  die  to  the  world  and  to  the  flesh ;  and  she  did  not  wish  to 
reawaken  their  power  within  her.  Yes.  It  was  very  well. 
Let  the  lass  go  with  him." 

"  Thou  art  indeed  a  true  penitent,"  said  the  priest,  his  human 
heart  softening  him. 

"  Thou  art  very  much  mistaken,"  said  she,  and  turned  away. 

The  girl,  when  she  heard  her  mother's  command,  wept, 
shrieked,  and  went.  At  least  she  was  going  to  her  father.  And 
from  wholesome  fear  of  that  same  saying-knife,  the  priest  left 
her  in  peace  all  the  way  to  Winchester. 

After  which,  Abbot  Ulfketyl  went  into  his  lodgings,  and  burst, 
like  a  noble  old  nobleman  as  he  was,  into  bitter  tears  of  rage  and 
shame. 

But  Torfrida's  eyes  were  as  dry  as  her  own  sackcloth. 

The  priest  took  the  letter  back  to  Winchester,  and  showed  it 
—  it  may  be  to  Archbishop  Lanfranc.  But  what  he  said,  this 
chronicler  would  not  dare  to  say.  For  he  was  a  very  wise  man, 
and  a  very  stanch  and  strong  pillar  of  the  Holy  Roman  Church. 
Meanwhile,  he  was  man  enough  not  to  require  that  anything 
should  be  added  to  Torfrida's  penance ;  and  that  was  enough  to 
prove  him  a  man  in  those  days,  —  at  least  for  a  churchman,  —  as 
it  proved  Archbishop  or  St.  Ailred  to  be,  a  few  years  after,  in  the 
case  of  the  nun  of  Watton,  to  be  read  in  Gale's  "  Scriptores  An- 
glicania."     Then  he  showed  the  letter  to  Alftruda. 

And  she  laughed  one  of  her  laughs,  and  said, "  I  have  her  at  last ! " 

Then,  as  it  befell,  he  was  forced  to  show  the  letter  to  Queen 
Matilda ;  and  she  wept  over  it  human  tears,  such  as  she,  the  no- 
ble heart,  had  been  forced  to  keep  many  a  time  before,  and  said, 
" The  poor  soul!  —  You,  Alftruda,  woman !  does  Hereward  know 
of  this  ?  " 

"No,  madam,"  said  Alftruda,  not  adding  that  she  had  taken 
good  care  that  he  should  not  know. 

"  It  is  the  best  thing  which  I  have  heard  of  him.  I  should  tell 
him,  were  it  not  that  I  must  not  meddle  with  my  lord's  plans. 
God  grant  him  a  good  delivery,  as  they  say  of  the  poor  souls  in 
jail.  Well,  madam,  you  have  your  will  at  last.  God  give  you 
grace  thereof,  for  you  have  not  given  Him  much  chance  as  yet." 

"  Your  majesty  will  honor  us  by  coming  to  the  wedding  ? " 
asked  Alftruda,  utterly  unabashed. 

Matilda  tlie  good  looked  at  her  with  a  face  of  such  calm,  child- 
like astonishment,  that  Alftruda  dropped  her  "  fairy  neck  "  at  last, 
and  Flunk  out  of  the  presence  like  a  beaten  cur. 

WiUiam  went  to  the  wedding ;  and  swore  horrible  oaths  that 
they  were  the  handsomest  pair  he  had  ever  seen.     And  so  Here- 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.      367 

ward  married  Alftruda.  How  Holy  Church  settled  the  matter 
is  not  said.  But  that  Hereward  married  Alftruda,  under  these 
very  circumstances,  may  be  considered  a  "  historic  fact,"  being 
vouched  for  by  Gairaar,  and  by  the  Peterborough  Chronicler. 
And  doubtless  Holy  Church  contrived  that  it  should  happen 
without  sin,  if  it  conduced  to  her  own  interest. 

And  little  Torfrida  —  then,  it  seems,  some  sixteen  years  of  age 
—  was  married  to  Hugh  of  Evermue.  She  wept  and  struggled 
as  she  was  dragged  into  the  church. 

"  But  I  do  not  want  to  be  married.  I  want  to  go  back  to  my 
mother." 

"The  diabolic  instinct  may  have  descended  to  her,"  said  the 
priests,  "  and  attracts  her  to  the  sorceress.  We  had  best  sprinkle 
her  with  holy  water." 

So  they  sprinkled  her  with  holy  water,  and  used  exorcisms. 
Indeed,  the  case  being  an  important  one,  the  personages  of  rank, 
they  brought  out  from  their  treasures  the  apron  of  a  certain  vir- 
gin saint,  and  put  it  round  her  neck,  in  hopes  of  driving  out  the 
hereditary  fiend. 

"  If  I  am  led  with  a  halter,  I  must  needs  go,"  said  she,  with 
one  of  her  mother's  own  flashes  of  wit,  and  went.  "  But  Lady 
Alftruda,"  whispered  she,  half-way  up  the  church,  "  I  never  loved 
him." 

"  Behave  yourself  before  the  King,  or  I  will  whip  you  till  the 
blood  runs." 

And  so  she  would,  and  no  one  would  have  wondered  in  those 
days. 

"  I  will  murder  you  if  you  do.     But  I  never  even  saw  him." 

"  Little  fool !  And  what  are  you  going  through,  but  what  I 
went  through  before  you  ?  " 

"  You  to  say  that  ?  "  gnashed  the  girl,  as  another  spark  of  her 
mother's  came  out.     "  And  you  gaining  what  —  " 

"  What  I  waited  for  for  fifteen  years,"  said  Alftruda,  coolly. 
"  If  you  have  courage  and  cunning,  like  me,  to  wait  for  fifteen 
years,  you  too  may  have  your  will  likewise." 

The  pure  child  shuddered,  and  was  married  to  Hugh  of  Ever- 
mue, who  is  not  said  to  have  kicked  her ;  and  was,  according  to 
them  of  Crowland,  a  good  friend  to  their  monastery,  and  there- 
fore, doubtless,  a  good  man.  Once,  says  wicked  report,  he  offered 
to  strike  her,  as  was  the  fashion  in  those  chivalrous  days.  Where- 
on she  turned  upon  him  like  a  tigress,  and  bidding  him  remember 
that  she  was  the  daughter  of  Hereward  and  Torfrida,  gave  him 
such  a  beating  that  he,  not  wishing  to  draw  sword  upon  her,  sur- 
rendered at  discretion  ;  and  they  lived  all  their  lives  afterwards 
as  happily  as  most  other  married  people  in  those  times. 


CHAPTER    XL. 

HOW   HEREWAKD   BEGAN   TO   GET   HIS   SOUL'S   PRICE. 

And  now  behold  Hereward  at  home  again,  fat  with  the  wages 
of  sin,  and  not  knowing  that  they  are  death. 

He  is  once  more  "  Dominus  de  Brunune  cum  Marisco,"  "  Lord 
of  Bourne  with  the  fen,  with  all  returns  and  liberties  and  all 
other  things  adjacent  to  the  same  vill  which  are  now  held  as  a 
barony  from  the  Lord  King  of  England."  He  has  a  fair  young 
wife,  and  with  her  farms  and  manors,  even  richer  than  his  own. 
He  is  still  young,  hearty,  wise  by  experience,  high  in  the  king's 
favor,  and  deservedly  so. 

Why  sliould  he  not  begin  life  again  ? 

Why  not  ?  Unless  it  be  true  that  the  wages  of  sin  are,  not  a 
new  life,  but  death. 

And  yet  he  has  his  troubles.  Hardly  a  Norman  knight  or 
baron  round  but  has  a  blood-feud  against  him,  for  a  kinsman 
slain.  Sir  Asvvart,  Thorold  tlie  abbot's  man,  was  not  likely  to 
forgive  him  tor  turning  him  out  of  the  three  Mainthorpe  manors, 
which  he  had  comfortably  held  for  two  years  past,  and  sending 
him  back  to  lounge  in  the  abbot's  hall  at  Peterborough,  without 
a  yard  of  land  he  could  call  his  own.  Sir  Ascelin  was  not  likely 
to  forgive  him  for  marrying  Alftruda,  whom  he  had  intended  to 
marry  himself.  Ivo  Taillebois  was  not  likely  to  forgive  him  for 
existing  within  a  hundred  miles  of  Spalding,  any  more  than  the 
wolf  would  forgive  the  lamb  for  fouling  the  water  below  him. 
Beside,  had  he  (Ivo)  not  married  Hereward's  niece  ?  and  what 
more  grievous  offence  could  Hereward  commit,  than  to  be  her 
uncle,  reminding  Ivo  of  his  own  low  birth  by  his  nobility,  and 
too  likely  to  take  Lucia's  part,  whenever  it  should  please  Ivo  to 
beat  or  kick  her  ?  Only  "  Gilbert  of  Ghent,"  the  pious  and  il- 
lustrious earl,  sent  messages  of  congratulation  and  friendship  to 
Hereward,  it  being  his  custom  to  sail  with  the  wind,  and  worship 
the  rising  sun  —  till  it  should  decline  again. 

But  more :  hardly  one  of  the  Normans  round,  but,  in  the 
conceit  of  their  skin-deep  yesterday's  civilization,  look  on  Here- 
ward as  a  barbarian  Englishman,  who  has  his  throat  tattooed, 
and  wears  a  short  coat,  and  prefers  —  the  churl  —  to  talk  Eng- 


HEREWARD,   THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH.  369 

lish  in  his  own  hall,  though  he  can  talk  as  good  French  as  they 
wlien  he  is  with  them,  beside  three  or  four  barbarian  tongues  if 
he  has  need. 

But  more  still :  if  they  are  not  likely  to  bestow  their  love  on 
Hereward,  Hereward  is  not  likely  to  win  love  from  them  of  his 
own  will.  He  is  peevish,  and  wrathful,  often  insolent  and  quar- 
relsome ;  and  small  blame  to  him.  Tiie  Normans  are  invaders 
and  tyrants,  who  have  no  business  there,  and  should  not  be  there, 
if  he  had  his  way.  And  they  and  he  can  no  more  amalgamate 
than  fire  and  water.  IMoreover,  he  is  a  very  great  man,  or  has 
been  such  once,  and  he  thinks  himself  one  still.  He  has  been 
accustomed  to  command  men,  whole  armies ;  and  he^will  no 
more  treat  these  Normans  as  his  eqtials,  than  they  will  treat 
him  as  such.  His  own  son-in-law,  Hugh  of  Evermue,  has  to 
take  hard  words,  —  thoroughly  well  deserved,  it  may  be  ;  but  all 
the  more  unpleasant  for  that  reason. 

The  truth  was,  that  Hereward's  heart  was  gnawed  with  shame 
and  remorse ;  and  therefore  he  fancied,  and  notwithout  reason, 
that  all  men  pointed  at  him  the  finger  of  scorn. 

He  had  done  a  bad,  base,  accursed  deed.  And  he  knew  it. 
Once  in  his  life  —  for  his  other  sins  were  but  the  sins  of  his  age 
—  the  Father  of  men  seems  (if  the  chroniclers  say  truth)  to 
have  put  before  this  splendid  barbarian  good  and  evil,  saying. 
Choose !  And  he  knew  that  the  evil  was  evil,  and  chose  it 
nevertheless. 

Eight  hundred  years  after,  a  still  greater  genius  and  general 
had  the  same  choice — as  far  as  human  cases  of  conscience  can 
be  alike  —  put  before  him.     And  he  chose  as  Hereward  chose. 

But  as  with  Napoleon  and  Josephine,  so  it  was  with  Hereward 
and  Torfrida.     Neither  throve  after. 

It  was  not  punished  by  miracle.  What  sin  is  ?  It  worked 
out  its  own  punishment ;  that  which  it  merited,  deserved,  or 
earned,  by  its  own  labor.  No  man  could  commit  such  a  sin 
without  shaking  his  whole  character  to  the  root.  Hereward 
tried  to  persuade  himself  that  his  was  not  shaken ;  that  he  was 
the  same  Hereward  as  ever.  But  he  could  not  deceive  himself 
long.  His  conscience  was  evil.  He  was  discontented  with  all 
mankind,  and  with  himself  most  of  all.  He  tried  to  be  good, — 
as  good  as  he  chose  to  be.  If  he  had  done  wrong  in  one  thing, 
he  might  make  up  for  it  in  others ;  but  he  could  not. 

All  his  higher  instincts  fell  from  him  one  by  one.  He  did 
not  hke  to  think  of  good  and  noble  things;  he  dared  not  think 
of  them.  He  felt,  not  at  first,  but  as  the  montlis  rolled  on,  that 
he  was  a  changed  man ;  that  God  had  left  him.  His  old  bad 
habits  began  to  return  to  him.  Griyluiilly  lie  sank  back  into  the 
16*  X 


370  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

very  vices  from  which  Torfrida  had  raised  him  sixteen  years 
before.  He  took  to  drinking  again,  to  dull  the  malady  of 
thought;  he  excused  himself  to  himself;  he  wished  to  forget 
his  defeats,  his  disappointment,  the  ruin  of  his  country,  the 
splendid  past  which  lay  behind  him  like  a  dream.  True :  but 
he  wished  to  forget  likewise  Torfrida  fasting  and  weeping  in 
Crowland.  He  could  not  bear  the  sight  of  Crowland  tower  on 
the  far  green  horizon,  the  sound  of  Crowland  bells  booming  over 
the  flat  on  the  south-wind.  He  never  rode  down  into  the  fens ; 
he  never  went  to  see  his  daughter  at  Deeping,  because  Crowland 
lay  that  way.  He  went  up  into  the  old  Bruneswald,  hunted  all 
day  Ion*  through  the  glades  where  he  and  his  merry  men  had 
done  their  doughty  deeds,  and  came  home  in  the  evening  to  get 
drunk. 

Then  he  lost  his  sleep.  He  sent  down  to  Crowland,  to  Leofric 
the  priest,  that  he  might  come  to  him,  and  sing  his  sagas  of  the 
old  heroes,  that  he  might  get  rest.  But  Leofric  sent  back  for 
answer  that  he  would  not  come. 

That  night  Alftruda  heard  him  by  her  side  in  the  still  hours, 
weeping  silently  to  himself.  She  caressed  him  :  but  he  gave  no 
heed  to  her. 

"  I  believe,"  said  she  bitterly  at  last,  "  that  you  love  Torfrida 
still  better  than  you  do  me." 

And  Hereward  answered,  like  Mahomet  in  like  case,  "  That 
do  I,  by  heaven.  She  believed  in  me  when  no  one  else  in  the 
world  did." 

And  the  vain,  hard  Alftruda  answered  angrily ;  and  there  was 
many  a  fierce  quarrel  between  them  after  tliat. 

With  his  love  of  drinking,  his  .love  of  boasting  came  back. 
Because  he  could  do  no  more  great  deeds  —  or  rather  had  not 
the  spirit  left  in  him  to  do  more  —  he  must  needs,  like  a  worn- 
out  old  man,  babble  of  the  great  deeds  which  he  had  done ;  in- 
sult and  defy  his  Norman  neiglibors ;  often  talk  what  might  be 
easily  caricatured  into  treason  against  King  William  himself. 

There  were  great  excuses  for  his  follies,  as  there  are  for  those 
of  every  beaten  man  ;  but  Hereward  was  spent.  He  had  lived 
his  life,  and  had  no  more  life  which  he  could  live  ;  for  every 
man,  it  would  seem,  brings  into  the  world  with  him  a  certain 
capacity,  a  certain  amount  of  vital  force,  in  body  and  in  soul ; 
and  when  that  is  used  up,  the  man  must  sink  down  into  some 
sort  of  second  childhood,  and  end,  like  Hereward,  very  much 
■where  he  began ;  unless  the  grace  of  God  shall  lift  him  up  above 
the  capacity  of  the  mere  flesh,  into  a  life  literally  new,  ever- 
renewing,  ever-expanding,  and  eternal. 

But  the  grace  of  God  had  gone  away  from  Hereward,  as  it 
goes  away  from  all  men  who  are  unfaithful  to  their  wives. 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  371 

It  was  very  pitiable.  Let  no  man  judge  him.  Life,  to  most, 
is  very  hard  work.  There  are  those  who  endure  to  the  end,  and 
are  saved  ;  there  are  those,  again,  who  do  not  endure  :  upon  whose 
souls  may  God  have  mercy. 

So  Hereward  soon  became  as  intolerable  to  his  Norman  neigh- 
bors as  they  were  intolerable  to  him. 

Whereon,  according  to  the  simple  fashion  of  those  primitive 
times,  they  sought  about  for  some  one  who  would  pick  a  quarrel 
with  Hereward,  and  slay  him  in  fair  fight.  But  an  Archibald 
Bell-the-Cat  was  not  to  be  found  on  every  hedge. 

But  it  befell  that  Oger  the  Breton,  he  who  had  Morcar's  lands 
round  Bourne,  came  up  to  see  after  his  lands,  and  to  visit  his 
friend  and  fellow-robber,  Ivo  Taillebois. 

Ivo  thought  the  hot-headed  Breton,  who  had  already  insulted 
Hereward  with  impunity  at  Winchester,  the  fittest  man  for  his 
purpose ;  and  asked  him,  over  his  cups,  whether  he  hud  settled 
with  that  English  ruffian  about  the  Docton  land  ? 

Now,  King  William  had  judged  that  Hereward  and  Oger 
should  hold  that  land  between  them,  as  he  and  Toli  had  done. 
But  when  "  two  dogs,"  as  Ivo  said,  "  have  hold  of  the  same  bone, 
it  is  hard  if  they  cannot  get  a  snap  at  each  other's  noses." 

Oger  agreed  to  that  opinion ;  and  riding  into  Bourne,  made  in- 
quisition into  the  doings  at  Docton.  And — scandalous  injustice!  — 
he  found  that  an  old  woman  had  sent  six  hens  to  Hereward, 
whereof  she  should  have  kept  three  for  him. 

So  he  sent  to  demand  formally  of  Hereward  those  three  hens  ; 
and  was  unpleasantly  disappointed  when  Hereward,  instead  of 
offering  to  fight  him,  sent  him  them  in  an  hour,  and  a  lusty  young 
cock  into  the  bargain,  with  this  message,  —  That  he  hoped  they 
might  increase  and  multiply ;  for  it  was  a  shame  of  an  honest 
Englishman  if  he  did  not  help  a  poor  Breton  churl  to  eat  roast 
fowls  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  after  feeding  on  nothing  better 
than  furze-toppings,  like  his  own  ponies. 

To  which  Oger,  who,  like  a  true  Breton,  believed  himself  de- 
scended from  King  Arthur,  Sir  Tristram,  and  half  the  knights  of 
the  Round  Table,  replied  that  his  blood  was  to  that  of  Hereward 
as  wine  to  peat-water ;  and  that  Bi-etons  used  furze-toppings  only 
to  scourge  the  backs  of  insolent  barbarians. 

To  which  Hereward  replied,  that  there  were  gnats  enough  pes- 
tering him  in  the  fens  already,  and  that  one  more  was  of  no  con- 
sequence. 

Wherefrom  the  Breton  judged,  as  at  Winchester,  that  Here- 
ward had  no  lust  to  fight. 

The  next  day  he  met  Hereward  going  out  to  hunt,  and  was 
coufii'med  in  his  opinion  when  Hereward  lifted  his  cap  to  him 


372  HEREWAED,   THE   LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH. 

most  courteously,  saying  that  he  was  not  aware  before  that  his 
neighbor  was  a  gentleman  of  such  high  blood. 

"  Blood  ?  Better  at  lea-t  than  thitie,  thou  bare-legged  Saxon, 
who  has  dared  to  call  me  churl.  So  you  must  needs  have  your 
throat  cut  ?     I  took  you  for  a  wiser  man." 

'•  Many  have  taken  me  for  that  which  I  am  not.  If  you  will 
harness  yourself,  I  will  do  the  same ;  and  we  will  ride  up  into 
the  Bruneswald,  and  settle  this  matter  in  peace." 

"  Three  men  on  each  side  to  see  fair  play,"  said  the  Breton. 

And  up  into  the  Bruneswald  they  rode ;  and  fought  long  with- 
out advantage  on  either  side. 

Hereward  was  not  the  man  which  he  had  been.  His  nerve 
was  gone,  as  well  as  his  conscience ;  and  all  the  dash  and  fury  of 
his  old  onslaughts  gone  therewith. 

He  grew  tired  of  the  fight,  not  in  body,  but  in  mind  ;  and  more 
than  once  drew  back, 

"  Let  us  stop  this  child's  play,"  said  he,  according  to  the  chroni- 
cler ;  •'  what  need  have  we  to  fight  here  all  day  about  nothing  ?  " 

Whereat  the  Breton  fancied  liim  already  more  than  half-beaten, 
and  attacked  more  furiously  than  ever.  He  would  be  the  first 
man  on  earth  who  ever  had  had  the  better  of  the  great  out- 
law. He  would  win  himself  eternal  glory,  as  the  champion  of  all 
England. 

But  he  had  mistaken  his  man,  and  his  indomitable  English 
pluck.  "  It  was  Hereward's  fashion,  in  fight  and  war,"  says  the 
chronicler,  "always  to  ply  the  man  most  at  the  last."  And  so 
found  the  Breton  ;  for  Hereward  suddenly  lost  patience,  and  rush- 
ing on  him  with  one  of  liis  old  shouts,  hewed  at  him  again 
and  again,  as  if  his  arm  would  never  tire. 

Oger  gave  back,  would  he  or  not.  In  a  few  moments  his  sword- 
arm  dropt  to  his  side,  cut  half  through. 

"Have  you  had  enough,  Sir  Tristram  the  younger?"  quoth 
Hereward,  wiping  his  sword,  and  walking  moodily  away. 

Oger  went  out  of  Bourne  with  his  arm  in  a  sling,  and  took 
counsel  with  Ivo  Taillebois.  AVhereon  they  two  mounted,  and 
rode  to  Lincoln,  and  took  counsel  with  Gilbert  of  Ghent. 

Tiie  fruit  of  which  was  this.  That  a  fortnight  after  Gilbert 
rode  into  Bourne  with  a  great  meinie,  full  a  hundred  strong,  and 
with  him  the  sheriff  and  tlie  king's  writ ;  and  arrested  Hereward  on 
a  charge  of  speaking  evil  of  the  king,  breaking  his  peace,  com- 
passing the  death  of  his  faithful  lieges,  and  various  other  wicked, 
traitorous,  and  diabolical  acts. 

Hereward  was  minded  at  first  to  fight  and  die.  But  Gilbert, 
who  —  to  do  him  justice  —  wi^hed  no  harm  to  his  ancient  squire, 
reasoned  with  him.     Why  should  he  destroy  not  only  himself,  bat 


HEREWARD,    THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH.  373 

perhaps  his  people  likewise  ?  Why  should  he  throw  away  his 
last  chance  ?  The  king  was  not  so  angry  as  he  seemed ;  and  if 
Hereward  would  but  be  reasonable,  the  matter  might  be  arranged. 
As  it  was,  he  was  not  to  be  put  to  strong  prison.  He  was  to  be 
in  the  custody  of  Robert  of  Herepol,  Ciiatelain  of  Bedford,  who, 
Hereward  knew,  was  a  reasonable  and  courteous  man.  The  king 
had  asked  him,  Gilbert,  to  take  charge  of  Hereward. 

"  And  wliat  said  you  ?  " 

"That  I  liad  rather  have  in  my  pocket  the  seven  devils^that 
came  out  of  St.  Mary  Magdalene ;  and  that  I  would  not  have 
thee  within  ten  miles  of  Lincoln  town,  to  be  Earl  of  all  the 
Danelagh.  So  I  begged  him  to  send  thee  to  Sir  Robert,  just  be- 
cause 1  knew  him  to  be  a  mild  and  gracious  man." 

A  year  before,  Hereward  would  have  scorned  the  proposal ; 
and  probably,  by  one  of  his  famous  stratagems,  escaped  there  and, 
then  out  of  the  midst  of  all  Gilbert's  men.  But  his  spirit  was 
broken  ;  indeed,  so  was  the  spirit  of  every  Englishman ;  and  he 
mounted  his  horse  sullenly,  and  rode  alongside  of  Gilbert,  un- 
armed for  the  first  time  for  many  a  year. 

"  You  had  better  have  taken  me,"  said  Sir  Ascelin  aside  to  the 
weeping  Alftruda. 

"  I  ?  helpless  wretch  that  I  am  !  What  shall  I  do  for  my  own 
safety,  now  he  is  gone  ?  " 

"  Let  me  come  and  provide  for  it." 

"  Out !  wretch  !  traitor !  "  cried  she. 

"  There  is  nothing  very  traitorous  in  succoring  distressed 
ladies,"  said  Ascelin.  "  If  I  can  be  of  the  least  service  to  Alf- 
truda the  peerless,  let  her  but  send,  and  I  fly  to  do  her  bidding." 

So  they  rode  off. 
,  Hereward  went  through  Cambridge  and  Potton  like  a  man 
stunned,  and  spoke  never  a  word.  He  could  not  even  think,  till 
he  heard  the  key  turned  on  him  in  a  room  —  not  a  small  or  dole- 
ful one  —  in  Bedford  keep,  and  found  an  iron  shackle  on  his  leg, 
fastened  to  the  stone  bench  on  which  he  sat. 

Robert  of  Herepol  had  meant  to  leave  his  prisoner  loose.  But 
there  were  those  in  Gilbert's  train  who  told  him,  and  with  truth, 
that  if  he  did  so,  no  man's  life  would  be  safe.  That  to  brain  the 
jailer  with  his  own  keys,  and  then  twist  out  of  his  bowels  a  line 
wherewith  to  let  himself  down  from  the  top  of  the  castle,  would 
be  not  only  easy,  but  amusing,  to  the  famous  "  Wake." 

So  Robert  consented  to  fetter  him  so  far,  but  no  further;  and 
begged  his  pardon  again  and  again  as  he  did  it,  pleading  the  pain- 
ful ntKjessities  of  his  oflice. 

But  Hereward  heard  him  not.  He  sat  in  stupefied  despair.  A 
great  black  cloud  had  covered  all  heaven  and  earth,  and  entered 


374      HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

into  his  brain  through  every  sense,  till  his  mind,  as  he  said  after- 
wards, was  like  hell,  with  the  fire  gone  out. 

A  jailer  came  in,  he  knew  not  how  long  after,  bringing  a  good 
meal,  and  wine.  He  came  cautiously  toward  the  prisoner,  and 
when  still  beyond  the  length  of  his  chain,  set  the  food  down,  and 
thrust  it  toward  him  with  a  stick,  lest  Hereward  should  leap  on 
him  and  wring  his  neck. 

But  Hereward  never  even  saw  him  or  the  food.  He  sat  there 
all  day,  all  night,  and  nearly  all  the  next  day,  and  hardly  moved 
hand  or  foot.  The  jailer  told  Sir  Robert  in  the  evening  that  he 
thought  the  man  was  mad,  and  would  die. 

So  good  Sir  Robert  went  up  to  him,  and  spoke  kindly  and 

hopefully.     But  all  Hereward  answered  was,  that  he  was  very 

well.     That  he  wanted  nothing.     That  he  had  always  heard  well 

^of  Sir  Robert.     That  he  should  Hke  to  get  a  little  sleep :  but  that 

sleep  would  not  come. 

The  next  day  Sir  Robert  came  again  early,  and  found  him  sit- 
ting in  the  same  place. 

"  He  was  very  well,"  he  said.  "  How  could  he  be  otherwise  ? 
He  was  just  where  he  ought  to  be.  A  man  could  not  be  better 
than  in  his  right  place." 

Whereon  Sir  Robert  gave  him  up  for  mad. 

Then  he  bethought  of  sending  him  a  harp,  knowing  the  fame 
of  Hereward's  music  and  singing.  "  And  when  he  saw  the  harp," 
the  jailer  said,  "  he  wept ;  but  bade  take  the  thing  away,  ^d 
so  sat  still  where  he  was." 

In  this  state  of  dull  despair  he  remained  for  many  weeks.  At 
last  he  woke  up. 

There  passed  through  and  by  Bedford  large  bodies  of  troops, 
going  as  it  were  to  and  from  battle.  The  clank  of  arms  stirred 
Herewai-d's  heart  as  of  old,  and  he  sent  to  Sir  Robert  to  ask  wh^ 
was  toward. 

Sir  Robert,  "  the  venerable  man,"  came  to  him  joyfully  and  at 
once,  glad  to  speak  to  an  illustrious  captive,  whom  he  looked  on 
as  an  injured  man  ;  and  told  him  news  enough. 

Taillebois's  warning  about  Ralph  Guader  and  Waltheof  had 
not  been  needless.  Ralph,  as  the  most  influential  of  the  Bretons, 
was  on  no  good  terms  with  the  Normans,  save  with  one,  and  that 
one  of  the  most  powerful,  —  Fitz-Osbern,  Earl  of  Hereford.  His 
sister  Ralph  was  to  have  married ;  but  William,  for  reasons  un- 
known, forbade  the  match.  The  two  great  earls  celebrated  the 
wedding  in  spite  of  William,  and  asked  Waltheof  as  a  guest.  And 
at  Exning,  between  the  fen  and  Newmarket  Heath,  — 

"  Was  that  bride-ale 
Which  was  man's  bale." 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH.  375 

For  there  was  matured  the  plot  which  Ivo  and  others  had  long 
seen  brewing.  William  had  made  himself  hateful  to  all  men  by 
his  cruelties  and  tyrannies ;  and  indeed  his  government  was  grow- 
ing more  unrighteous  day  by  day.  Let  them  drive  him  out  of 
England,  and  part  the  land  between  them.  Two  should  be  dukes, 
the  third  king  paramount. 

"  Waltheof,  I  presume,  plotted  drunk,  and  repented  sober,  when 
too  late.     The  wittol !     He  should  have  been  a  monk." 

"  Repented  he  has,  if  ever  he  was  guilty.  For  he  fled  to  Arch- 
bishop Lanfranc,  and  confessed  to  him  so  much,  that  Lanf'ranc 
declares  him  innocent,  and  has  sent  him  on  to  William  in  Nor- 
mandy." 

"  O  kind  priest !  true  priest !  To  send  his  sheep  into  the  wolf's 
mouth." 

"  You  forget,  dear  sire,  that  William  is  our  king." 
"  I  can  hardly  forget  that,  with  this  pi'etty  ring  upon  my  ankle. 
But  after  my  experience  of  how  he  has  kept  faith  with  me,  what 
can  I  expect  for  Waltheof  the  wittol,  save  that  which  I  have  fore- 
told many  a  time? " 

"  As  for  you,  dear  sire,  the  king  has  been  misinformed  concern- 
ing you.     I  have  sent  messengers  to  reason  with  him  again  and 
again ;  but  as  long  as  Taillebois,  Warrenne,  and  Robert  Malet 
had  his  ear,  of  what  use  were  my  poor  words  ?  " 
"  And  what  said  they  ?  " 

"  That  there  would  be  no  peace  in  England  if  you  were  loose." 
"  They  lied.     I  am  no  boy,  like  Waltheof.     I  know  when  the 
game  is  played  out.     And  it  is  played  out  now.     The  French- 
man is  master,  and  I  know  it  well.     Were  I  loose  to-morrow, 
and  as  great  a  fool  as  Waltheof,  what  could  I  do,  with,  it  may  be, 
some  forty  knights  and  a  hundred  men-at-arms,  against  all  Wil- 
liam's armies  ?     But  how  goes  on  this  fool's  rebellion  ?     If  I  had 
been  loose  I  might  have  helped  to  crush  it  in  the  bud." 
"  And  you  would  have  done  that  against  Waltheof?  " 
"  Why  not  against  him  ?     He  is  but  bringing  more  misery  on 
England.     Tell  that  to  William.     Tell  him  that  if  he  sets  me 
free,  I  will  be  the  first  to  attack  Waltheof,  or  whom   he  will. 
There  are  no  English  left  to  fight  against,"  said  he,  bitterly,  "  for 
Waltheof  is  none  now." 

"  He  shall  know  your  words  when  he  returns  to  England." 
"  What,  is  he  abroad,  and  all  this  evil  going  on  ?  " 
"  In  Normandy.  But  the  English  have  risen  for  the  King  in 
Herefordshire,  and  beaten  Earl  Roger ;  and  Odo  of  Bayeux  and 
Bishop  Mowbray  are  on  their  way  to  Cambridge,  where  they 
hope  to  give  a  good  account  of  Earl  Ralph ;  and  that  the  English 
may  help  them  there." 


376  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH. 

"And  they  shall!  They  hate  Ralph  Guader  as  much  as  I  do. 
Can  you  send  a  message  for  me  ?  " 

"Whither?" 

"  To  Bourne  in  the  Bruneswald ;  and  say  to  Hereward's  men, 
wherever  they  are,  Let  them  rise  and  arm,  if  they  love  Hereward, 
and  down  to  Cambridge,  to  be  the  foremost  at  ]3ishop  Odo's  side 
against  Ralph  Guader,  or  Waltheof  himself.  Send !  send  !  O 
that  I  were  free !  " 

"  Would  to  Heaven  thou  wert  free,  my  gallant  sir  1 "  Said  the 
good  man. 

From  that  day  Hereward  woke  up  somewhat.  He  was  still  a 
broken  man,  querulous,  peevish  ;  but  the  hope  of  freedom  and  the 
hope  of  battle  woke  him  up.  If  he  could  but  get  to  his  men ! 
But  his  melancholy  returned.  His  men  —  some  of  them  at  least 
—  went  down  to  Odo  at  Cambridge,  and  did  good  service.  Gua- 
der was  utterly  routed,  and  escaped  to  Norwich,  and  thence  to 
Brittany,  —  his  home.  The  bishops  punished  their  prisoners,  the 
rebel  Normans,  with  horrible  mutilations. 

"  The  wolves  are  beginning  to  eat  each  other,"  said  Hereward 
to  himself.  But  it  was  a  sickening  thought  to  him,  that  his  men 
had  been  fighting  and  he  not  at  their  head. 

After  a  while  there  came  to  Bedford  Castle  two  witty  knaves. 
One  was  a  cook,  who  "  came  to  buy  milk,"  says  the  chronicler ; 
the  other  seemingly  a  gleeman.  They  told  stories,  jested,  harped, 
sang,  drank,  and  pleased  much  the  garrison  and  Sir  Robert,  who 
let  them  hang  about  the  place. 

They  asked  next,  whether  it  were  true  that  the  famous  Here- 
ward was  there  ?     If  so,  might  a  man  have  a  look  at  him  ? 

The  jailer  said  that  many  men  might  have  gone  to  see  hira,  so 
easy  was  Sir  Robert  to  him.  But  he  would  have  no  man  ;  and 
none  dare  enter  save  Sir  Robert  and  he,  for  fear  of  their  lives. 
But  he  would  ask  him  of  Herepol. 

The  good  knight  of  Herepol  said,  "  Let  the  rogues  go  in ;  they 
may  amuse  the  poor  man." 

So  they  went  in,  and  as  soon  as  they  went,  he  knew  them.  One 
was  Martin  Lightfoot,  the  other  Leofric  the  Unlucky. 

"  Who  sent  you  ?  "  asked  he  surlily,  turning  his  face  away. 

"  She." 

"  AV^ho  ?  " 

"  We  know  but  one  she,  and  she  is  at  Crowland." 

"  She  sent  you  ?  and  wherefore  ?  " 

"  That  we  might  sing  to  you,  and  make  you  merry." 

Hereward  answered  them  with  a  terrible  word,  and  turned  his 
face  to  the  wall,  groaning,  and  then  bade  them  sternly  to  go. 

So  they  went,  for  the  time. 


HERE  WARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  377 

The  jailer  told  this  to  Sir  Robert,  who  saw  all,  being  a  kind- 
hearted  man. 

"  From  his  poor  first  wife,  eh  ?  Well,  there  can  be  no  harm 
in  that.  Nor  if  they  came  from  this  Lady  Alftruda  either,  for 
that  matter;  let  them  go  in  and  out  when  they  will." 

"  But  they  may  be  spies  and  traitors." 

"  Then  we  can  but  hang  them." 

Robert  of  Herepol,  it  would  appear  from  the  chronicle,  did  not 
much  care  whether  they  were  spies  or  not. 

So  the  men  went  to  and  fro,  and  often  sat  with  Hereward. 
But  he  forbade  them  sternly  to  mention  Torfrida's  name. 

Alftruda  sent  to  him  meanwhile,  again  and  again,  messages  of 
passionate  love  and  sorrow,  and  he  listened  to  them  as  sullenly  as 
he  did  to  his  two  servants,  and  sent  no  answer  back.  And  so  sat 
more  weary  months,  in  the  very  prison,  it  may  be  in  the  very 
room,  in  which  John  Bunyan  sat  nigh  six  hundred  years  after : 
but  in  a  very  different  frame  of  mind. 

One  day  Sir  Robert  was  going  up  the  stairs  with  another 
knight,  and  met  the  two  coming  down.  He  was  talking  to  that 
knight  earnestly,  indignantly ;  and  somehow,  as  he  passed  Leofric 
and  Martin  he  thought  fit  to  raise  his  voice,  as  if  in  a  great 
wrath. 

"  Shame  to  all  honor  and  chivalry !  good  saints  in  heaven, 
what  a  thing  is  human  fortune !  That  this  man,  wIk)  had  once  a 
gallant  army  at  his  back,  should  be  at  this  moment  going  like  a 
sheep  to  the  slaughter,  to  Buckingham  Castle,  at  the  mercy  of  his 
worst  enemy,  Ivo  Taillebois,  of  all  men  in  the  world.  If  there 
were  a  dozen  knights  left  of  all  those  whom  he  used  to  heap  with 
wealth  and  honor,  worthy  the  name  of  knight>,  they  would  catch 
us  between  here  and  Stratford,  and  make  a  free  man  of  their 
lord." 

So  spake  —  or  words  to  that  effect,  according  to  the  Latin 
chronicler,  who  must  have  got  them  from  Leofric  himself — the 
good  knight  of  Herepol. 

"  Hillo,  knaves  !  "  said  he,  seeing  the  two,  "  are  you  here  eaves- 
dropping ?  out  of  the  castle  this  instant,  on  your  lives." 

Which  hint  those  two  witty  knaves  took  on  the  spot. 

A  few  days  after,  Hereward  was  travelling  toward  Bucking- 
ham, chained  upon  a  horse,  with  Sir  Robert  and  his  men,  and  a 
goodly  company  of  knights  belonging  to  Ivo.  Ivo,  as  the  story 
runs,  seems  to  have  ari-anged  with  Ralph  Pagnel  at  Buckingham 
to  put  him  into  the  keeping  of  a  creature  of  his  own.  And  how 
easy  it  was  to  put  out  a  man's  eyes,  or  starve  him  to  death,  in  s 
Norman  keep,  none  knew  better  than  Hereward. 

But  he  was  past  fear  or  sorrow.     A  dull  heavy  cloud  of  de- 


378  HEREWABD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

spair  had  settled  down  upon  his  soul.  Black  with  sin,  his  heart 
could  not  pray.  He  had  hardened  himself  against  all  heaven 
and  earth,  and  thought,  when  he  thought  at  all,  only  of  his 
wrongs :  but  never  of  his  sins. 

They  passed  through  a  forest,  seemingly  somewhere  near  what 
is  Newport  Pagnel,  named  after  Ralph,  his  would-be  jailer. 

Suddenly  from  the  trees  dashed  out  a  body  of  knights,  and  at 
their  head  tlie  white-bear  banner,  in  Ranald  of  Ramsey's  hand. 

"  Halt ! "  sliouted  Sir  Robert ;  "  we  are  past  the  half-way  stone. 
Earl  Ivo's  and  Earl  Ralph's  men  are  answerable  now  for  the 
prisoner." 

"  Treason ! "  shouted  Ivo's  men,  and  one  would  have  struck 
Hereward  through  with  his  lance ;  but  Winter  was  too  quick  for 
him,  and  bore  him  from  his  saddle  ;  and  then  dragged  Hereward 
out  of  the  fight. 

The  Normans,  surprised  while  their  helmets  were  hanging  at 
their  saddles,  and  their  arms  not  ready  for  battle,  were  scattered 
at  once.  But  they  returned  to  the  attack,  confident  in  their  own 
numbers. 

Tiiey  were  over  confident.  Hereward's  fetters  were  knocked 
oflP;  and  he  was  horsed  and  armed,  and,  mad  with  freedom  and 
battle,  fighting  like  himself  once  more. 

Only  as  he  rode  to  and  fro,  thrusting  and  hewing,  he  shouted 
to  his  men  to  spare  Sir  Robert,  and  all  his  meinie,  crying  that  he 
was  the  savior  of  his  life  ;  and  when  the  fight  was  over,  and  all 
Ivo's  and  Ralph's  men  who  were  not  slain  had  ridden  for  their 
lives  into  Stratford,  he  shook  hands  with  that  venerable  knight, 
giving  him  innumerable  thanks  and  courtesies  for  his  honorable 
keeping ;  and  begged  him  to  speak  well  of  him  to  the  king. 

And  so  these  two  parted  in  peace,  and  Hereward  was  a  free 
man. 


CHAPTER    XLI. 

HOW   EARL   WALTHEOF   WAS   MADE  A   SAINT. 

A  FEW  months  after,  there  sat  in  Abbot  Thorold  's  lodgings  in 
Peterborough  a  select  company  of  Normans,  talking  over  affairs 
of  state  after  their  supper. 

"  Well,  earls  and  gentlemen,"  said  the  Abbot,  as  he  sipped  his 
wine,  "  the  cause  of  our  good  king,  which  is  happily  the  cause  of 
Holy  Church,  goes  well,  I  think.  We  have  much  to  be  thankful 
for  when  we  review  the  events  of  the  past  year.  We  have  finished 
the  rebels ;  Roger  de  Breteuil  is  safe  in  prison,  Ralph  Guader 
unsafe  in  Brittany,  and  Waltheof  more  than  unsafe  in  —  the 
place  to  which  traitors  descend.  We  have  not  a  manor  left  which 
is  not  in  loyal  Norman  hands ;  we  have  not  an  English  monk  left 
■who  has  not  been  scourged  and  starved  into  holy  obedience ;  not  an 
English  saint  for  whom  any  man  cares  a  jot,  since  Guerin  de  Lire 
preached  down  St.  Adhelm,  the  admirable  primate  disposed  of  St. 
Alphege's  martyrdom,  and  some  other  wise  man  —  I  am  ashamed 
to  say  that  I  forget  wlio  —  proved  that  St.  Edmund  of  Suffolk  was 
merely  a  barbarian  knight,  who  was  killed  fighting  with  Danes 
only  a  little  more  heathen  than  himself.  We  have  had  great 
labors  and  great  sufferings  since  we  landed  in  this  barbarous  isle 
upon  our  holy  errand  ten  years  since  ;  but,  under  the  shadow  of 
the  gonfalon  of  St.  Peter,  we  have  conquered,  and  may  sing 
'  Dominus  lUuminatio  mea,'  with  humble  and  thankful  hearts."     - 

"  I  don't  know  that,"  said  Ascelin,  "  my  Lord  Uncle  ;  I  shall 
never  sing  '  Dominus  Illuminatio '  till  I  see  your  coffers  illumi- 
nated once  more  by  those  thirty  thousand  marks." 

"  Or  I,"  said  Oger  le  Breton,  "  till  I  see  myself  safe  in  that  bit 
of  land  which  Here  ward  holds  wrongfully  of  me  in  Locton." 

"  Or  I,"  said  Ivo  Taillebois,  "  till  I  see  Hereward's  head  on 
Bourne  gable,  where  he  stuck  up  those  Norman's  heads  seven 
years  ago.  But  what  the  Lord  Abbot  means  by  saying  that  we 
have  done  with  English  saints  I  do  not  see,  for  tlie  villains  of 
Crowland  have  just  made  a  new  one  for  themselves." 

"  A  new  one  ?  " 

"  I  tell  you  truth  and  fact ;  I  will  tell  you  all.  Lord  Abbot ; 
and  you  shall  judge  whether  it  is  not  enough  to  drive  an  honest 


380  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

man  mad  to  see  such  things  going  on  under  his  nose.  Men  say 
of"  me  that  I  am  rougli,  and  swear  and  bhispheme.  I  put  it  to 
you,  Lord  Abbot,  if  Job  would  not  have  cursed  if  he  had  been  Lord 
of  Spalding  ?  You  know  that  the  king  let  these  Crowland  monks 
have  Waltheof's  body?" 

"  Yes,  I  thought  it  an  unwise  act  of  grace.  It  would  have 
been  wiser  to  leave  him,  as  he  desired,  out  on  the  down,  in 
ground  unconsecrate." 

"  Of  course,  of  course  ;  for  what  has  happened  ?  " 

"  That  old  traitor,  Ulf  ketyl,  and  his  monks  bring  the  body  to 
Crowland,  and  bury  it  as  if  it  had  been  the  Pope's.  In  a 
week  they  begin  to  spread  their  lies,  —  that  Waltheof  was  inno- 
cent ;  that  Archbishop  Lanfranc  himself  said  so." 

"  That  was  the  only  act^f  human  weakness  which  I  have  ever 
known  the  venerable  prelate  commit,"  said  Thorold. 

"  That  these  Normans  at  Winchester  were  so  in  the  traitor's 
favor,  that  the  king  had  to  have  him  out  and  cut  off  his  head  in 
the  gray  of  the  morning,  ere  folks  were  up  and  about ;  that  the 
fellow  was  so  holy  that  he  past  all  his  time  in  prison  in  weeping 
and  praying,  and  said  over  the  whole  Psalter  every  day,  because 
his  mother  had  taught  it  him,  —  I  wish  she  had  taught  him  to  be 
an  honest  man;  —  and  that  when  his  head  was  on  the  block  he  said 
all  the  Paternoster,  as  far  as  Lead  us  not  into  temptation,  and 
then  off  went  his  head ;  whereon,  his  head  being  off,  finished  the 
prayer  Avith  —  you  know  best  what  comes  next,  Abbot  ?  " 

"  Deliver  us  from  evil.  Amen  !  What  a  manifest  lie  !  The 
traitor  was  not  permitted,  it  is  plain,  to  ask  for  that  which  could 
never  be  granted  to  him  ;  but  his  soul,  unworthy  to  be  delivered 
from  evil,  entered  instead  into  evil,  and  howls  forever  in  the 
pit." 

"  But  all  the  rest  may  be  true,"  said  Oger ;  "  and  yet  that  be 
no  reason  why  these  monks  should  say  it." 

"  So  I  told  them,  and  threatened  them  too ;  for,  not  content 
with  making  him  a  martyr,  they  are  making  him  a  saint." 

"  Impious  !  Who  can  do  that,  save  the  Holy  Father  ?  "  said 
Thorold. 

"  You  had  best  get  your  bishop  to  look  to  them,  then,  for  they 
are  carrying  blind  beggars  and  mad  girls  by  the  dozen  to  be 
cured  at  the  man's  tomb,  that  is  all.  Their  fellows  in  the  cell  at 
Spalding  went  about  to  take  a  girl  that  had  fits  off  one  of  my 
manors,  to  cure  her ;  but  that  I  stopped  with  a  good  horsewhip." 

"  And  righ^y." 

"  And  gave  the  monks  a  piece  of  my  mind,  and  drove  them 
clean  out  of  their  cell  home  to  Crowland." 

What  a  piece  of  Ivo's  mind  on  this  occasion  might  be,  let 
Ingulf  describe. 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       881 

"Against  our  monastery  and  all  the  people  of  Crowland  he 
was,  by  the  instigation  of  the  Devil,  raised  to  such  an  extreme 
pitch  of  fuiy,  that  he  would  follow  their  animals  in  the  marshes 
with  his  dogs,  drive  them  to  a  great  distance  down  in  the  lakes, 
mutilate  some  in  the  tails,  others  in  the  ears,  while  often,  by 
breaking  the  backs  and  legs  of  the  beasts  of  burden,  he  rendered 
them  utterly  useless.  Against  our  cell  also  (at  Spalding)  and 
our  brethren,  his  neighbors,  the  prior  and  monks,  who  dwelt  all 
day  within  his  presence,  he  rages  with  tyrannical  and  frantic  fury, 
lamed  their  oxen  and  horses,  daily  impounded  their  sheep  and 
poultry,  striking  down,  killing,  and  slaying  their  swine  and  pigs ; 
while  at  the  same  time  the  servants  of  the  prior  were  oppressed 
in  the  Earl's  court  with  insupportable  exactions,  were  often  as- 
saulted in  the  highways  with  swords  and  staves,  and  sometimes 
killed." 

"  Well,"  went  on  the  injured  Earl,  "  this  Hereward  gets  news 
of  me,  —  and  news  too,  I  don't  know  whence,  but  true  enough 
it  is,  —  that  I  had  sworn  to  drive  Ulf  ketyl  out  of  Crowland  by 
writ  from  king  and  bishop,  and  lock  him  up  as  a  minister  at  the 
other  end  of  England." 

"  You  will  do  but  right.  I  will  send  a  knight  off  to  the  king 
this  day,  telling  him  all,  and  begging  him  to  send  us  up  a  trusty 
Norman  as  abbot  of  Crowland,  that  we  may  have  one  more 
gentleman  in  the  land  fit  for  our  company." 

"  You  must  kill  Hereward  first.  For,  as  I  was  going  to  say, 
he  sent  word  to  me  '  that  the  monks  of  Crowland  were  as  the 
apple  of  his  eye,  and  Abbot  Ulfketyl  to  him  as  more  than  a 
father ;  and  that  if  I  dared  to  lay  a  finger  on  them  or  their 
property,  he  would  cut  my  head  off.' " 

"  He  has  promised  to  cut  my  head  off  likewise,"  said  Ascelin. 
"  Earl,  knights,  and  gentlemen,  do  you  not  think  it  wiser  that  we 
should  lay  onr  wits  together  once  and  for  all,  and  cut  off  his." 

"  But  who  will  catch  the  Wake  sleeping  ?  "  said  Ivo,  laughing. 

"  That  will  I.     I  have  my  plans,  and  my  intelligencers." 

And  so  those  wicked  men  took  counsel  together  to  slay  Here- 
ward. 


CHAPTER    XLII. 

HOW   HEREWARD    GOT   THE   REST    OF  HIS   SOUL'S  PRICE. 

In  those  days  a  messenger  came  riding  post  to  Bourne.  The 
Countess  Judith  wished  to  visit  the  tomb  of  her  late  husband, 
Earl  Waltheof ;  and  asked  hospitality  on  her  road  of  Hereward 
and  Alftruda. 

Of  course  she  would  come  with  a  great  train,  and  the  trouble 
and  expense  would  be  great.  But  the  hospitality  of  those  days, 
when  money  was  scarce,  and  wine  scarcer  still,  was  unbounded, 
and  a  matter  of  course  ;  and  Alftruda  was  overjoyed.  No  doubt, 
Judith  was  the  most  unpopular  person  in  England  at  that  mo- 
ment ;  called  by  all  a  traitress  and  a  fiend.  But  she  was  an  old 
acquaintance  of  Alftruda's ;  she  was  the  king's  niece ;  she  was 
immensely  rich,  not  only  in  manors  of  her  own,  but  in  manors, 
as  Domesday-book  testifies,  about  Lincolnshire  and  the  counties 
round,  which  had  belonged  to  her  murdered  husband,  —  which 
she  had  too  probably  received  as  the  price  of  her  treason.  So 
Alftruda  looked  to  her  visit  as  to  an  honor  which  would  enable 
her  to  hold  her  head  high  among  the  proud  Norman  dames,  who 
despised  her  as  the  wife  of  an  Englishman. 

Hereward  looked  on  the  visit  in  a  different  light.  He  called 
Judith  ugly  names,  not  undeserved ;  and  vowed  that  if  she 
entered  his  house  by  the  front  door  he  would  go  out  at  the  back. 
"  Torfrida  prophesied,"  he  said,  "  that  she  would  betray  her 
husband,  and  she  had  done  it." 

"  Torfrida  prophesied  ?  Did  she  prophesy  that  I  should  betray 
you  likewise  ?  "  asked  Alftruda,  in  a  tone  of  bitter  scorn. 

"  No,  you  handsome  fiend  :  will  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  am  a  handsome  fiend,  am  I  not  ?  "  and  she  bridled 
up  her  magnificent  beauty,  and  stood  over  him  as  a  snake  stands 
over  a  mouse. 

"  Yes  ;  you  are  handsome,  —  beautiful :  I  adore  you." 

"  And  yet  you  will  not  do  what  I  wish  ?  " 

"  What  you  wish  ?  What  would  I  not  do  for  you  ?  what  have 
I  not  done  for  you  ?  " 

"  Then  receive  Judith.  And  now,  go  hunting,  and  bring  me 
in  game.  I  want  deer,  roe,  fowls ;  anything  and  everything, 
from  the  greatest  to  the  smallest.     Go  and  hunt." 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  383 

And  Hereward  trembled,  and  went 

There  are  flowers  whose  scent  is  so  luscious  that  silly  children 
will  plunge  their  heads  among  them,  drinking  in  their  odor,  to 
the  exclusion  of  all  fresh  air.  On  a  sudden  sometimes  comes  a 
revulsion  of  the  nerves.  The  sweet  odor  changes  in  a  moment 
to  a  horrible  one  ;  and  the  child  cannot  bear  for  years  after  the 
scent  which  has  once  disgusted  it  by  over-sweetness. 

And  so  had  it  happened  to  Hereward.  He  did  not  love  Alf- 
truda  now  :  he  loathed,  hated,  dreaded  her.  And  yet  he  could 
not  take  his  eyes  for  a  moment  off  her  beauty.  He  watched 
every  movement  of  her  hand,  to  press  it,  obey  it.  He  would 
have  preferred  instead  of  hunting,  simply  to  sit  and  watch  her  go 
about  the  house  at  her  work.  He  was  spell-bound  to  a  thing 
which  he  regarded  with  horror. 

But  he  was  told  to  go  and  hunt ;  and  he  went,  with  all  his 
men,  and  sent  home  large  supplies  for  the  larder.  And  as  he 
hunted,  the  free,  fresh  air  of  the  forest  comforted  him,  the  free 
forest  life  came  back  to  him,  and  he  longed  to  be  an  outlaw  once 
more,  and  hunt  on  forever.  He  would  not  go  back  yet,  at  lea^t 
to  face  that  Judith.  So  he  sent  back  the  greater  part  of  his  men 
with  a  story.  He  was  ill ;  he  was  laid  up  at  a  farm-house  far 
away  in  the  forest,  and  begged  the  countess  to  excuse  his  absence. 
He  had  sent  fresh  supplies  of  game,  and  a  goodly  company  of 
his  men,  knights  and  housecarles,  who  would  escort  her  royally 
to  Crowland. 

Judith  cared  little  for  his  absence ;  he  was  but  an  English 
barbarian.  Alftruda  was  half  glad  to  have  him  out  of  the  way, 
lest  his  now  sullen  and  uncertain  temper  should  break  out ;  and 
bowed  herself  to  the  earth  before  Judith,  who  patronized  her  to 
her  heart's  content,  and  offered  her  slyly  insolent  condolences  on 
being  married  to  a  barbarian.  She  herself  could  sympathize, 
—  who  more  ? 

Alftruda  might  have  answered  with  scorn  that  she  was  an 
Adeliza,  and  of  better  English  blood  than  Juditli's  Norman 
blood ;  but  she  had  her  ends   to  gain,  and  gained  them. 

For  Judith  was  pleased  to  be  so  delighted  with  her  that  she 
kissed  her  lovingly,  and  said  with  much  emotion  that  she  re- 
quired a  friend  who  would  support  her  through  her  coming  trial ; 
and  who  better  than  one  who  herself  had  suffered  so  much  ? 
Would  she  accompany  her  to   Crowland  ? 

Alftruda  was  overjoyed,  and  away  they  went. 

And  to  Crowland  they  came ;  and  to  the  tomb  in  the  minster, 
whereof  men  said  already  that  the  sacred  corpse  within  worked 
miracles  of  healing. 

And  Judith,  habited  in  widow's  weeds,  approached  the  tomb, 


384      HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

and  laid  on  it,  as  a  peaoe-ofFering  to  the  manes  of  the  dead, 
a  splendid   pall  of  silk  and  gold. 

A  fierce  blast  came  howling  off  the  fen,  screeched  through  the 
minster  towers,  swept  along  the  dark  aisles ;  and  then,  so  say 
the  chroniclers,  caught  up  the  pall  from  off  the  tomb,  and  hurled 
it  far  away  into  a  corner. 

"  A  miracle ! "  cried  all  the  monks  at  once ;  and  honestly 
enough,  like   true   Englishmen  as  they  were. 

"  The  Holy  heart  refuses  the  gift,  Countess,"  said  old  Ulfketyl 
in  a  voice  of  awe. 

Judith  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  turned  away 
trembling,  and  walked  out,  while  all  looked  upon  her  as  a  thing 
accursed. 

Of  her  subsequent  life,  her  folly,  her  wantonness,  her  disgrace, 
her  poverty,  her  wanderings,  her  wretched  death,  let  others  tell. 

But  these  Normans  believed  that  the  curse  of  Heaven  was 
upon  her  from  that  day.  And  the  best  of  them  believed  like- 
wise that  -Waltheof's  murder  was  the  reason  that  William,  her 
uncle,  prospered  no  more  in  life. 

*'  Ah,  saucy  sir,"  sSid  Alftruda  to  Ulfketyl,  as  she  went  out, 
"  there  is  one  waiting  at  Peterborough  now  who  will  teach  thee 
manners,  —  Ingulf  of  Fontenelle,  Abbot,  in  thy  room." 

"  Does  Herevvard  know  that  ?  "  asked  Ulfketyl,  looking  keenly 
at  her. 

"  What  is  that  to  thee  ? "  said  she,  fiercely,  and  flung  out  of 
the  minster.  But  Hereward  did  not  know.  There  were  many 
things  abroad  of  which  she  told  him  nothing. 

They  went  back  and  were  landed  at  Deeping  town,  and  mak- 
ing their  ^way  along  the  King  Street,  or  old  Roman  road,  to 
Bourne.  Thereon  a  man  met  them,  running.  They  had  best 
stay  where  they  were.  The  Frenchmen  were  out,  and  there 
was  fighting  up  in  Bourne. 

Alf  truda's  knights  wanted  to  push  on,  to  see  after  the  Bourne 
folk;  Judith's  knights  wanted  to  push  on  to  help  the  Fi'ench; 
and  the  two  parties  were  ready  to  fight  each  other.  There  was 
a  great  tumult.     The  ladies  had  much  ado  to  still  it. 

Alftruda  said  that  it  might  be  but  a  countryman's  rumor ;  that, 
at  least,  it  was  shame  to  quarrel  with  their  guests.  At  last  it 
was  agreed  that  two  knights  should  gallop  on  into  Bourne,  and 
bring  back  news. 

But  those  knights  never  came  back.  So  the  whole  body 
moved  on  Bourne,  and  there  they  found  out  the  news  for  them- 
selves. 

Hei-eward  had  gone  home  as  soon  as  they  had  departed,  and 
sat  down  to  eat  and  di'ink.     His  manner  was  sad  and  grange. 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.       385 

He  drank  much  at  the  midday  meal,  and  then  lay  down  to  sleep, 
setting  guards  as  usual. 
*  After  a  while  he  leapt  up  with  a  shriek  and  a  shudder. 

They  ran  to  him,  asking  whether  he  was  ill. 

"  111  ?  No.  Yes.  Ill  at  heart.  I  have  had  a  dream,  —  an 
ugly  dream.  I  thought  that  all  the  men  I  ever  slew  on  earth 
came  to  me  with  their  wounds  all  gaping,  and  cried  at  me, 
'  Our  luck  then,  thy  luck  now.'  Chaplain !  is  there  not  a 
verse  somewhere,  —  Uncle  Brand  said  it  to  me  on  his  death- 
bed, — '  Whoso  sheddeth  man's  blood,  by  man  shall  his  blood 
be  shed'?" 

"  Surely  the  master  is  fey,"  whispei'ed  Guenock  in  fear  to  the 
chaplain.     •'  Answer  him  out  of  Scripture." 

"Text?  None  such  that  I  know  of,"  quoth  Priest  Ailward, 
a  graceless  fellow  who  had  taken  Leofric's  place.  "  If  that 
were  the  law,  it  would  be  but  few  honest  men  that  would  die  in 
their  beds.  Let  us  drink,  and  drive  girls'  fancies  out  of  our 
heads." 

So  they  drank  again ;  and  Hereward  fell  asleep  once  more. 

"  It  is  thy  turn  to  watch.  Priest,"  said  Guenock  to  Ailward. 
"  So  keep  the  door  well,  for  I  am  worn  out  with  hunting,"  and 
so  fell  asleep. 

Ailward  shuffled  into  his  harness,  and  went  to  the  door.  The 
wine  was  heady ;  the  sun  was  hot.  In  a  few  minutes  he  was 
asleep  likewise. 

Hereward  slept,  who  can  tell  how  long?  But  at  last  there 
•was  a  bustle,  a  heavy  fall ;  and  waking  with  a  start,  he  sprang 
up.  He  saw  Ailward  lying  dead  across  the  gate,  and  above  him 
a  crowd  of  fierce  faces,  some  of  which  he  knew  too  well.  He 
saw  Ivo  Taillfcbois ;  he  saw  Oger ;  he  saw  his  fellow-Breton,  Sir 
Eaoul  de  Dol ;  he  saw  Sir  Ascelin  ;  he  saw  Sir  Asvva,  Thorold's 
man;  he  saw  Sir  Hugh  of  Evermue,  his  own  son-in-law;  and 
with  them  he  saw,  or  seemed  to  see,  the  Ogre  of  Cornwall,  and 
O'Brodar  of  Ivark,  and  Dirk  Hammerhand  of  Walcheren,  and 
many  another  old  foe  long  underground ;  and  in  his  ear  rang  tlie 
text,  —  "  Whoso  sheddeth  man's  blood,  by  man  shall  his  blood  be 
shed."     And  Hereward  knew  that  his  end  was  come. 

There  was  no  time  to  put  on  mail  or  helmet.  He  saw  the  old 
sword  and  shield  hang  on  a  perch,  and  tore  them  down.  As  he 
girded  the  sword  on  Winter  sprang  to  his  side. 

''  I  have  three  lances,  —  two  for  me  and  one  for  you,  and  wo 
can  hold  the  door  against  twenty." 

"  Till  they  fire  the  house  over  our  heads.  Shall  Hereward  die 
like  a  wolf  in  a  cave  ?     Forward,  all  Hereward's  men !  " 

And  he  rushed  out  upon  his  fate.     No  man  followed  him,  save 
17  Y 


386  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

Winter.  The  rest,  disperst,  unarmed,  were  running  hither  and 
thither  helplessly. 

"  Brothers  in  arms,  and  brothers  in  Valhalla ! "  shouted  Winter 
as  he  rushed  after  him. 

A  knight  was  running  to  and  fro  in  the  Court,  shouting  Here- 
ward's  name.  "  Where  is  the  villain  ?  Wake  !  We  have  caught 
thee  asleep  at  last." 

"  I  am  out,"  quoth  Hereward,  as  the  man  almost  stumbled 
against  him  ;  "  and  this  is  in." 

And  through  shield,  hauberk,  and  body,  as  says  Gaima,  went 
llereward's  javelin,  while. all  drew  back,  confounded  for  the  mo- 
ment at  that  mighty  stroke. 

"  Felons !  "  shouted  Hereward,  "  your  king  has  given  me  his 
truce ;  and  do  you  dare  break  my  house,  and  kill  my  folk  ?  Is 
that  your  Norman  law  ?  And  is  this  your  Norman  honor?  —  To 
take  a  man  unawares  over  his  meat  ?  Come  on,  traitors  all,  and 
get  what  you  can  of  a  naked  man  ;*  you  will  buy  it  dear —  Guard 
uiy  back.  Winter !  " 

And  he  ran  right  at  the  press  of  knights  ;  and  the  fight  began. 


says  Gaimar. 


"  He  gored  them  like  a  wood-wild  boar, 
As  long  as  that  lance  might  endure," 

"  And  when  that  lance  did  break  in  hand, 
Full  fell  enough  he  smote  with  braud." 


And  as  he  hewed  on  silently,  with  grinding  teeth  and  hard,  glit- 
tering eyes,  of  whom  did  he  think  ?     Of  Alftruda  ? 

Not  so.  But  of  that  pale  ghost,  with  great  black  hollow  eyes, 
who  sat  in  Crowland,  with  thin  bare  feet,  and  sackcloth  on  her 
tender  limbs,  watching,  praying,  longing,  loving,  uncomplaining. 
That  ghost  had  been  for  many  a  month  the  background  of  all  his 
thoughts  and  dreams.  It  was  so  clear  before  his  mind's  eye  now, 
that,  unawares  to  himself,  he  shouted  Torfrida  !  as  he  struck,  and 
struck  the  harder  at  the  sound  of  his  old  battle-cry. 

And  now  he  is  all  wounded  and  be-bled ;  and  Winter,  who  has 
fought  back  to  back  with  him,  has  fallen  on  his  face ;  and  Here 
ward  stands  alone,  turning  from  side  to  side,  as  he  sweeps  his 
sword  right  and  left  till  the  forest  rings  with  the  blows,  but  stag- 
gering as  he  turns.  Within  a  ring  of  eleven  corpses  he  stands. 
Who  will  go  in  and  make  the  twelfth  ? 

A  knight  rushes  in,  to  fall  headlong  down,  cloven  through  the 
helm :  but  Hereward's  blade  snaps  short,  and  he  hurls  it  away  as 
his  foes  rush  in  with  a  shout  of  joy.  He  tears  his  shield  from  his 
left  arm,  and  with  it,  says  Gaimar,  brains  two  more. 

•  L  e.  without  armor. 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.  387 

But  the  end  is  come.  Taillebois  and  Evermue  are  behind 
hira  now ;  four  lances  are  through  his  back,  and  bear  him  down 
to  his  knees. 

"  Cut  off  his  head,  Breton ! "  shouted  Ivo.  Raoul  de  Dol 
rushed  forward,  sword  in  hand.  At  that  cry  Hereward  lifted  up 
his  dying  head.     One  stroke  more  ere  it  was  all  done  forever. 

And  with  a  shout  of  "  Torfrida !  "  which  made  the  Bruneswald 
ring,  he  hurled  the  shield  full  in  the  Breton's  face,  and  fell  forward 
dead. 

The  knights  drew  their  lances  from  that  terrible  corpse  slowly 
and  with  caution,  as  men  who  have  felled  a  bear,  yet  dare  not 
step  within  reach  of  the  seemingly  lifeless  paw. 

"  The  dog  died  hard,"  said  Ivo.  "  Lucky  for  us  that  Sir  Asce- 
lin  had  news  of  his  knights  being  gone  to  Crowlaud.  If  he  had 
had  them  to  back  him,  we  had  not  done  this  deed  to-day." 

"  I  will  make  sure,"  said  Ascelin,  as  he  struck  off  the  once  fair 
and  golden  head. 

"  Ho,  Breton,"  erred  Ivo,  "  the  villain  is  dead.  Get  up,  man, 
and  see  for  yourself.     What  ails  him  ?  " 

But  when  they  lifted  up  Raoul  de  Dol  his  brains  were  running 
down  his  face ;  and  all  men  stood  astonished  at  that  last  mighty 
stroke. 

"  That  blow,"  said  Ascelin,  "  will  be  sung  hereafter  by  minstrel 
and  maiden  as  the  last  blow  of  the  last  Englishman.  Knights, 
we  have  slain  a  better  knight  than  ourselves.  K  there  had  been 
three  more  such  men  in  this  realm,  they  would  have  driven  us 
and  King  William  back  again  into  the  sea." 

So  said  Ascelin ;  those  words  of  his,  too,  were  sung  by  many  a 
jongleur,  Norman  as  well  as  English,  in  the  times  that  wei'e  to 
come. 

"  Likely  enough,"  said  Ivo ;  "  but  that  is  the  more  reason  why 
we  should  set  that  head  of  his  up  over  the  hall-door,  as  a  warning 
to  these  English  churls  tliat  their  last  man  is  dead,  and  their  last 
stake  thrown  and  lost." 

So  perished  "  the  last  of  the  English." 

It  was  the  third  day.  The  Normans  were  drinking  in  the  hall 
of  Bourne,  casting  lots  among  themselves  who  should  espouse  the 
fair  Alftruda,  who  sat  weeping  within  over  the  headless  corpse ; 
when  in  the  afternoon  a  servant  came  in,  and  told  them  how  a 
barge  fuU  of  monks  had  come  to  the  shore,  and  that  they  seemed 
to  be  monks  from  Crowland.  Ivo  Taillebois  bade  drive  them 
back  again  into  the  barge  with  whips.  But  Hugh  of  Evermue 
epoke  up. 

"  I  am  lord  and  master  in  Bourne  this  day,  and  if  Ivo  have  a 
quarrel  against  St.  Gutlilac,  I  have  none.     This  Ingulf  of  Fonte- 


388       HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

nelle,  the  new  abbot  who  has  come  thither  since  old  Ulfketyl  was 
sent  to  prison,  is  a  loyal  man,  and  a  friend  of  King  William's, 
and  my  friend  he  shall  be  till  he  behaves  himself  as  my  foe.  Let 
*hem  come  up  in  peace." 

Taillebois  growled  and  cursed :  but  the  monks  came  up,  and 
ato  the  hall;  and  at  their  head  Ingulf  himself,  to  receive  whom 
ill  men  rose,  save  Taillebois. 

"  I  come,"  said  Ingulf,  in  most  courtly  French,  "  noble  knights, 
to  ask  a  boon  and  in  the  name  of  the  Most  Merciful,  on  behalf  of 
a  noble  and  unhappy  lady.  Let  it  be  enough  to  have  avenged 
yourself  on  the  living.  Gentlemen  and  Christians  war  not  against 
the  dead." 

"  No,  no,  Master  Abbot !  "  shouted  Taillebois  ;  "  Waltheof  is 
enough  to  keep  Crowland  in  miracles  for  the  present.  You  shall 
not  make  a  martyr  of  another  Saxon  churl.  He  wants  the 
barbarian's  body,  knights,  and  you  will  be  fools  if  you  let  him 
have  it." 

"  Churl  ?  barbarian?  "  said  a  haughty  voice  ;  and  a  nun  stepped 
forward  who  had  stood  just  behind  Ingulf.  She  was  clothed 
entirely  in  black.  Her  bare  feet  were  bleeding  from  the  stones  ; 
her  hand,  as  she  lifted  it,  was  as  thin  as  a  skeleton's. 

She  threw  back  her  veil,  and  showed  to  the  knights  what  had 
been  once  the  famous  beauty  of  Torfrida. 

But  the  beauty  was  long  past  away.  Her  hair  was  white  as 
snow  ;  her  cheeks  were  fallen  in.  Her  hawk-like  features  were 
all  sharp  and  hard.  Only  in  their  hollow  sockets  burned  still  the 
great  black  eyes,  so  fiercely  that  all  men  turned  uneasily  from 
her  gaze. 

"  Churl  ?  barbarian  ?  "  she  said,  slowly  and  quietly,  but  with 
an  intensity  which  was  more  terrible  than  rage.  "  Who  gives 
such  names  to  one  who  was  as  much  better  born  and  better  bred 
than  those  who  now  sit  here,  as  he  was  braver  and  more  terrible 
than  they  ?  The  base  wood-cutter's  son  ?  The  upstart  who  would 
have  been  honored  had  he  taken  service  as  yon  dead  man's 
groom  ?  " 

"  Talk  to  me  so,  and  my  stirrup  leathers  shall  make  acquaint- 
ance with  your  sides,"  said  Taillebois. 

"  Keep  them  for  your  wife.  Churl  ?  Barbarian  ?  There  is 
not  a  man  within  this  hall  who  is  not  a  barbarian  compai*ed  with 
him.  Which  of  you  touched  the  harp  like  him  ?  Which  of  you, 
like  him,  could  move  all  hearts  with  song?  Which  of  you  knows 
all  tongues  from  Lapland  to  Provence  ?  Which  of  you  has  been 
the  joy  of  ladies'  bowers,  the  counsellor  of  earls  and  heroes,  the 
rival  of  a  mighty  king?  Which  of  you  will  compare  yourself 
with  him,  —  whom  you   dared  not  even  strike,  you  and  your 


HEREWARD,  THE   LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH.  389 

robber  crew,  fairly  in  front,  but  skulked  round  him  till  he  fell 
pecked  to  death  by  you,  as  Lapland  Skratlings  peck  to  death  the 
bear.  Ten  years  ago  he  swept  this  hall  of  such  as  you,  and  hung 
their  heads  upon  yon  gable  outside  ;  and  were  he  alive  but  one 
five  minutes  again,  this  hall  would  be  right  cleanly  swept  again ! 
Give  me  his  body,  —  or  bear  forever  the  name  of  cowards,  and 
Torfrida's  curse." 

And  she  fixed  her  terrible  eyes  first  on  one,  and  then  on 
another,  calling  them  by  name. 

"  Ivo  Taillebois,  —  basest  of  all  —  " 

"  Take  the  witch's  accursed  eyes  otf  me  !  "  and  he  covered  his 
face  with  his  hands.  "  I  shall  be  overlooked,  —  planet  struck. 
Hew  the  witch  down  !     Take  her  away  !  " 

"  Hugh  of  Evermue,  —  the  dead  man's  daughter  is  yours,  and 
the  dead  man's  lands.  Are  not  these  remembrancer  enough  of 
^im  ?  Are  you  so  fond  of  his  memory  that  you  need  his  corpse 
.kewise  ?  " 

"  Give  it  her  !  Give  it  her ! "  said  he,  hanging  down  his  head 
like  a  rated  cur. 

"  AsceUn  of  Lincoln,  once  Ascelin  of  Ghent,  — -  there  was  a 
time  when  you  would  have  done  —  what  would  you  not  ?  —  for 
one  glance  of  Torfrida's  eyes.  —  Stay.  Do  not  deceive  yourself, 
fair  sir,  Torfrida  means  to  ask  no  favor  of  you,  or  of  living  man. 
But  she  commands  you.  Do  the  thing  she  bids,  or  with  one 
glance  of  her  eye  she  sends  you  childless  to  your  grave." 

"  Madam  !  Lady  Torfrida  !  What  is  there  I  would  not  do  for 
you  ?     What  have  I  done  now,  save  avenge  your  great  wrong  ?  " 

Torfrida  made  no  answer,  but  fixed  steadily  on  him  eyes 
which  widened  every  moment. 

"  But,  madam,"  —  and  he  turned  shrinking  from  the  fancied 
spell,  —  "  what  would  you  have  ?  The  —  the  corpse  ?  It  is  in 
the  keeping  of — of  another  lady." 

"So?"  said  Torfrida,  quietly.  "  Leave  her  to  me  "  ;  and  she 
swept  past  them  all,  and  flung  open  the  bower  door  at  their  backs, 
discovering  Alftruda  sitting  by  the  dead. 

The  ruffians  were  so  utterly  appalled,  not  only  by  the  false 
powers  of  magic,  but  by  veritable  powers  of  majesty  and  elo- 
quence, that  they  let  her  do  what  she  would. 

"  Out ! "  cried  she,  using  a  short  and  terrible  epithet.  "  Out, 
siren,  with  fairy's  face  and  tail  of  fiend,  and  leave  the  husband 
with  his  wife  ! " 

Alftruda  looked  up,  shrieked  ;  and  then,  Avith  the  sudden  pas- 
sion of  a  weak  nature,  drew  a  little  knife,  and  sprang  up. 

Ivo  made  a  coarse  jest.  The  Abbot  sprang  in :  "  For  the  sake 
of  all  holy  things,  let  there  be  no  more  murder  here ! " 


590  HEREWARD,   THE   LAST   OF   THE  ENGLISH. 

Torfrida  smiled,  and  fixed  her  snake's  eye  upon  her  wretched 
rival. 

"  Out !  woman,  and  choose  thee  a  new  husband  among  these 
French  gallants,  ere  I  blast  thee  from  head  to  foot  with  the  lep- 
rosy of  Naaman  the  Syrian." 

Alftruda  shuddered,  and  fled  shrieking  into  an  inner  room. 

"  Now,  knights,  give  me  —  that  which  hangs  outside." 

Ascelin  hurried  out,  glad  to  escape.     In  a  minute  he  returned. 

The  head  was  already  taken  down.  A  tall  lay  brother,  the 
moment  he  had  seen  it,  had  climbed  the  gable,  snatched  it  away, 
and  now  sat  in  a  corner  of  the  yard,  holding  it  on  his  knees,  talk- 
ing to  it,  chiding  it,  as  if  it  had  been  alive.  When  men  had 
offered  to  take  it,  he  had  drawn  a  battle-axe  from  under  his  frock, 
and  threatened  to  brain  all  comers.  And  the  monks  had  warned 
off  Ascelin,  saying  that  the  man  was  mad,  and  had  Berserk  fits 
of  supei'human  strength  and  rage. 

"  He  will  give  it  me ! "  said  Torfrida,  and  went  out. 

"  Look  at  that  gable,  foolish  head,"  said  the  madman.  "  Ten 
years  agone,  you  and  I  took  down  from  thence  another  head.  O 
foolish  head,  to  get  yourself  at  last  up  into  that  same  place ' 
Why  would  you  not  be  ruled  by  her,  you  foolish  golden  head  ?  " 

"  Martin  !  "  said  Torfrida. 

"  Take  it  and  comb  it,  mistress,  as  you  used  to  do.  Comb  out 
the  golden  locks  again,  fit  to  shine  across  the  battle-field.  She 
has  let  them  get  all  tangled  into  elf-knots,  that  lazy  slut  within." 

Torfrida  took  it  from  his  hands,  dry-eyed,  and  went  in. 

Then  the  monks  silently  took  up  the  bier,  and  all  went  forth, 
and  down  the  hill  toward  the  fen.  They  laid  the  corpse  within 
the  barge,  and  slowly  rowed  away. 

And  on  by  Porsaud  and  by  Asendyke, 
By  winding  reaches  on,  and  shining  meres 
Between  gray  reed-ronds  and  green  alder-beds, 
A  dirge  of  monks  and  wail  of  women  rose 
In  vain  to  Heaven  for  the  last  Englishman; 
Then  died  far  off  within  the  boundless  mist, 
And  left  the  Norman  master  of  the  land. 

So  Torfrida  took  the  corpse  home  to  Crowland,  and  buried  it 
in  the  choir,  near  the  blessed  martyr  St.  Waltheof ;  after  which 
she  did  not  die,  but  lived  on  many  years,*  spending  all  day  in 
nursing  and  feeding  the  Countess  Godiva,  and  lying  all  night  on 
Here  ward's  tomb,  and  praying  that  he  might  find  grace  and  mercy 
in  that  day. 

And  at  last  Godiva  died ;  and  they  took  her  away  and  buried 
her  with  great  pomp  in  her  own  minster  church  of  Coventry. 

*  If  Ingulf  can  be  trusted,  Torfrida  died  about  A.  D.  1085. 


HEREWAKD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH.  391 

And  after  that  Torfrida  died  likewise ;  because  she  had  nothing 
left  for  which  to  live.  And  they  laid  her  in  Hereward's  grave, 
and  their  dust  is  mingled  to  this  day. 

And  Leofric  the  priest  lived  on  to  a  good  old  age,  and  above 
all  things  he  remembered  the  deeds  and  the  sins  of  his  master, 
and  wrote  them  in  a  book,  and  this  is  what  remains  thereof 

But  when  Martin  Lightfoot  died,  no  man  has  said ;  for  no  man 
in  those  days  took  account  of  such  poor  churls  and  running  serv- 
ing-men. 

And  Hereward's  comrades  were  all  scattered  abroad,  some 
maimed,  some  blinded,  some  witli  tongues  cut  out,  to  beg  by  the 
wayside,  or  crawl  into  convents,  and  then  die ;  while  their  sisters 
and  daughters,  ladies  born  and  bred,  were  the  slaves  of  grooms 
and  scullions  from  beyond  the  sea. 

And  so,  as  sang  Thorkel  Skallason,  — 

"  Cold  heart  and  bloody  hand  * 
Now  rule  English  land." 

And  after  that  things  waxed  even  worse  and  worse,  for  sixty 
years  and  more  ;  all  through  the  reigns  of  the  two  Williams,  and 
of  Henry  Beauclerc,  and  of  Stephen  ;  till  men  saw  visions  and  por- 
tents, and  thought  that  the  foul  fiend  was  broken  loose  on  earth. 
And  they  whispered  oftener  and  oftener  that  the  soul  of  Here- 
ward  haunted  the  Bruneswald,  where  he  loved  to  hunt  the  dun 
deer  and  the  roe.  And  in  the  Bruneswald,  when  Henry  of  Poi- 
tou  was  made  abbot,t  men  saw  —  let  no  man  think  lightly  of  the 
marvel  which  we  are  about  to  relate,  for  it  was  well  known  all 
over  the  country  —  upon  the  Sunday,  when  men  sing,  "  Exsurge 
quare,  O  Domine,"  many  hunters  hunting,  black,  and  tall,  and 
loathly,  and  their  hounds  were  black  and  ugly  with  wide  eyes,  and 
they  rode  on  black  horses  and  black  bucks.  And  they  saw  them 
in  the  very  deer-park  of  the  town  of  Peterborough,  and  in  all  the 
woods  to  Stamford ;  and  the  monks  heard  the  blasts  of  the  horns 
which  they  blew  in  the  night.  Men  of  truth  kept  watch  upon 
them,  and  said  that  there  might  be  well  about  twenty  or  thirty 
horn-blowers.  This  was  seen  and  heard  all  that  Lent  until  Easter, 
and  the  Norman  monks  of  Peterborough  said  how  it  was  Here- 
ward,  doomed  to  wander  forever  with  Apollyon  and  all  his  crew, 
because  he  had  stolen  the  riches  of  the  Golden  Borough :  but  the 
poor  folk  knew  better,  and  said  that  the  mighty  outlaw  was  re- 
joicing in  the  chase,  blowing  his  horn  for  Englishmen  to  rise 
against  the  French  ;  and  therefore  it  was  that  he  was  seen  fii-st 
on  "Arise,  O  Lord"  Sunday. 

But  they  were  so  sore  trodden  down  that  they  could   never 

•  Laing's  Heimskringle. 

t  Anglo-Saxon  Chroiiicle,  A.  D.  1127. 


392  HEREWARD,  THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

rise  ;  for  the  French  *  had  filled  the  land  full  of  castles.  "  They 
greatly  oppressed  the  wretched  people  by  making  them  work  at 
these  castles ;  and  when  the  castles  were  finished,  they  filled  them 
with  devils  and  evil  men.  They  took  those  whom  they  suspected 
of  having  any  goods,  both  men  and  women,  and  they  put  them  in 
prison  for  their  gold  and  silver,  and  tortured  them  with  pains  un- 
speakable, for  never  were  any  martyrs  tormented  as  these  were. 
They  hung  some  by  their  feet,  and  smoked  them  with  foul  smoke; 
some  by  the  thumbs,  or  by  the  head,  and  put  burning  things  on 
their  feet.  They  put  a  knotted  string  round  their  heads,  and 
twisted  it  till  it  went  into  the  brain.  They  put  them  in  dungeons 
wherein  were  adders,  and  snakes,  and  toads,  and  thus  wore  them 
out  Some  they  put  into  a  crucet-house,  —  that  is,  into  a  chest 
that  was  short  and  narrow,  and  they  put  sharp  stones  therein,  and 
crushed  the  man  so  that  they  broke  all  his  bones.  There  were 
hateful  and  grim  things  called  Sachenteges  in  many  of  the  castles, 
which  two  or  three  men  had  enough  to  do  to  carry.  This  Sachen- 
tege  was  made  thus :  It  was  fastened  to  a  beam,  having  a  sharp 
iron  to  go  round  a  man's  throat  and  neck,  so  that  he  might  no 
ways  sit,  nor  lie,  nor  sleep,  but  he  must  bear  all  the  iron.  Many 
thousands  they  wore  out  with  hunger.  .  .  .  They  were  continually 
levying  a  tax  from  the  towns,  which  they  called  Truserie,  and 
when  the  wretched  townsfolk  had  no  more  to  give,  then  burnt 
they  all  the  towns,  so  that  well  mightest  thou  walk  a  whole  day's 
journey  or  ever  thou  shouldest  see  a  man  settled  in  a  town,  or  its 
lands  tilled.  .  .  . 

"  Then  was  corn  dear,  and  flesh,  and  cheese,  and  butter,  for  there 
was  none  in  the  land.  Wretched  men  starved  with  hunger. 
Some  lived  on  alms  who  had  been  once  rich.  Some  fled  the 
country.  Never  was  there  more  misery,  and  never  heathens  act- 
ed worse  than  these." 

For  now  the  sons  of  the  Church's  darlings,  of  the  Crusaders 
whom  the  Pope  had  sent,  beneath  a  gonfalon  blessed  by  him,  to 
destroy  the  liberties  of  England,  turned,  by  a  just  retribution, 
upon  that  very  Norman  clergy  who  had  abetted  all  their  iniqui- 
ties in  the  name  of  Rome.  "  They  spared  neither  church  nor 
churchyard,  but  took  all  that  was  valuable  therein,  and  then 
burned  the  church  and  all  together.  Neither  did  they  spare  the 
lands  of  bishops,  nor  of  abbots,  nor  of  priests ;  but  they  robbed 
the  monks  and  clergy,  and  every  man  plundered  his  neighbor 
as  much  as  he  could.  If  two  or  three  men  came  riding  to  a  town, 
all  the  townsfolk  fled  before  them,  and  thought  that  they  were 
robbers.  The  bishops  and  clergy  were  forever  cursing  them ; 
but  this  to  them  was  nothing,  for  they  were  all  accursed  and  for- 

•  Anglo-Saxon  Clyoniole,  A.  D.  1137. 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH.      893 

Bwom  and  reprobate.  The  earth  bare  no  corn  :  you  might  as 
well  have  tilled  the  sea,  for  all  the  land  wa3  ruined  by  such  deeds, 
and  it  was  said  openly  that  Christ  and  his  saints  slept." 

And  so  was  avenged  the  blood  of  Harold  and  his  brothers,  of 
Edwin  and  Morcar,  of  Waltheof  and  Hereward. 

And  those  who  had  the  spirit  of  Hereward  in  them  fled  to  the 
merry  greenwood,  and  became  bold  outlaws,  with  Robin  Hood, 
Scarlet,  and  John,  Adam  Bell,  and  Clym  of  the  Cleugh,  and 
William  of  Cloudeslee ;  and  watched  with  sullen  joy  the  Norman 
robbers  tearing  in  pieces  each  other,  and  the  Church  who  had  blest 
their  crime. 

And  they  talked  and  sung  of  Hereward,  and  all  his  doughty 
deeds,  over  the  hearth  in  lone  farm-houses,  or  in  the  outlaw's  lodge 
beneath  the  hoUins  green ;  and  all  the  burden  of  their  song  was, 
"  Ah  that  Hereward  were  alive  again ! "  for  they  knew  not  that 
Hereward  was  alive  forevermore ;  that  only  his  husk  and  shell 
lay  mouldering  there  in  Crowland  choir ;  that  above  them,  and 
around  them,  and  in  them,  destined  to  raise  them  out  of  that 
bitter  bondage,  and  mould  them  into  a  great  nation,  and  the 
parents  of  still  greater  nations  in  lands  as  yet  unknown,  brooded 
the  immortal  spirit  of  Hereward,  now  purged  from  aU  earthly 
dross,  even  the  spirit  of  Freedom,  which  can  never  die. 


17  • 


CHAPTER    XLIII. 

HOW  DEEPING   FEN  WAS  DRAINED. 

Ill  war  and  disorder,  ruin  and  death,  cannot  last  forever. 
They  are  by  their  own  nature  exceptional  and  suicidal,  and  spend 
themselves  with  what  they  feed  on.  And  then  the  true  laws  of 
God's  universe,  peace  and  order,  usefulness  and  life,  will  reassert 
themselves,  as  they  have  been  waiting  all  along  to  do,  hid  in  God's 
presence  from  the  strife  of  men. 

And  even  so  it  was  with  Bourne. 

Nearly  eighty  years  after,  in  the  year  of  Grace  1155,  there 
might  have  been  seen  sitting,  side  by  side  and  hand  in  hand,  upon 
a  sunny  bench  on  the  Bruneswald  slope,  in  the  low  December 
sun,  an  old  knight  and  an  old  lady,  the  master  and  mistregs  of 
Bourne. 

Much  had  changed  since  Hereward's  days.  The  house  below 
had  been  raised  a  whole  story.  There  were  fresh  herbs  and 
flowers  in  the  garden,  unknown  at  the  time  of  the  Conquest. 
But  the  great  change  was  in  the  fen,  especially  away  toward 
Deeping  on  the  southern  horizon. 

Where  had  been  lonely  meres,  foul  watercourses,  stagnant  slime, 
there  were  now  great  dikes,  rich  and  fair  corn  and  grass  lands, 
rows  of  pure  white  cottages.  The  newly-drained  land  swarmed 
with  stocks  of  new  breeds  :  horses  and  sheep  from  Flanders,  cattle 
from  Normandy  ;  for  Richard  de  Rulos  was  the  first  —  as  far  as 
history  tells  —  of  that  noble  class  of  agricultural  squires,  who 
are  England's  blessing  and  England's  pride. 

"  For  this  Richard  de  Rulos,"  says  Ingulf,  or  whoever  wrote  in 
his  name,  "  who  had  married  the  daughter  and  heiress  of  Hugh  of 
Evermue,  Lord  of  Bourne  and  Deeping,  hAng  a  man  of  agri- 
cultural pursuits,  got  permission  from  the  monks  of  Crowland, 
for  twenty  marks  of  silver,  to  enclose  as  much  as  he  would  of  the 
common  marshes.  So  he  shut  out  the  Welland  by  a  strong  em- 
bankment, and  building  thereon  numerous  tenements  and  cottages, 
in  a  short  time  he  formed  a  large  '  vill,'  marked  out  gardens,  and 
cultivated  fields ;  while,  by  shutting  out  the  river,  he  found  in  the 
meadow  land,  which  had  been  lately  deep  lakes  and  impassable 
marshes  (wherefore  the   place  was  called   Deeping,    the    deep 


HEREWARD,   THE  LAST   OF  THE  ENGLISH.  395 

meadow),  most   fertile   fields  and  desirable   lands,  and  out  of 
sloughs  and  bogs  accursed  made  quiet  a  garden  of  pleasaunce." 

So  there  the  good  man,  the  beginner  of  the  good  work  of  cen- 
tui-ies,  sat  looking  out  over  the  fen,  and  listening  to  the  music 
which  came  on  the  southern  breeze  —  above  the  low  of  the 
kine,  and  the  clang  of  the  wild-fowl  settling  down  to  rest  —  from 
the  bells  of  Crowland  minster  far  away. 

They  were  not  the  same  bells  which  tolled  for  Hereward  and 
Torfrida.  Those  had  run  down  in  molten  streams  upon  that  fatal 
night  when  Abbot  Ingulf  leaped  out  of  bed  to  see  the  vast  wooden 
sanctuary  wrapt  in  one  sheet  of  roaring  flame,  from  the  careless- 
ness of  a  plumber  who  had  raked  the  ashes  over  his  fire  in  the 
bell-tower,  and  left  it  to  smoulder  through  the  night. 

Then  perished  all  the  riches  of  Crowland ;  its  library  too,  of  more 
than  seven  hundred  volumes,  with  that  famous  Nadir  or  Orrery, 
the  like  whereof  was  not  in  all  England,  wherein  the  seven 
planets  wei'e  represented,  each  in  their  proper  metals.  And  even 
worse,  all  the  charters  of  the  monastery  perished,  a  loss  which  in- 
volved the  monks  thereof  in  centuries  of  lawsuits,  and  compelled 
them  to  become  as  industrious  and  skilful  forgers  of  documents 
as  were  to  be  found  in  the  minsters  of  the  middle  age. 

But  Crowland  minster  had  been  rebuilt  in  greater  glory  than 
ever,  by  the  help  of  the  Norman  gentry  round.  Abbot  Ingulf, 
finding  that  St.  Guthlac's  plain  inability  to  take  care  of  himself 
had  discredited  him  much  in  the  fen-men's  eyes,  fell  back,  Nor- 
man as  he  was,  on  the  virtues  of  the  holy  martyr,  St.  Waltheof, 
whose  tomb  he  opened  with  due  reverence,  and  found  the  body 
as  whole  and  uncorru^^ted  as  on  the  day  on  which  it  was  buried : 
and  the  head  united  to  the  body,  while  a  fine  crimson  line  around 
the  neck  was  the  only  sign  remaining  of  his  decollation. 

On  seeing  which  Ingulf  "  could  not  contain  himself  for  joy : 
and  interrupting  the  response  which  the  brethren  were  singing, 
with  a  loud  voice  began  the  hymn  '  Te  Deum  Laudamus,'  on 
which  the  chariter  taking  it  up,  enjoined  the  rest  of  the  brethren 
to  sing  it."  After  which  Ingulf — who  had  never  seen  Waltheof 
in  life,  discovered  that  it  was  none  other  than  he  whom  he  had 
seen  in  a  vision  at  Fontenelle,  as  an  earl  most  gorgeously  arrayed, 
with  a  tore  of  gold  about  his  neck,  and  with  him  an  abbot,  two 
bishops,  and  two  saints,  the  two  former  being  Usfran  and  Ausbert, 
the  abbots,  St.  Wandresigil  of  Fontenelle,  and  the  two  saints,  of 
course  St.  Guthlac  and  St.  Neot. 

Whereon,  crawling  on  his  hands  and  knees,  he  kissed  the  face 
of  the  holy  martyr,  and  "  perceived  such  a  sweet  odor  proceeding 
from  the  holy  body,  as  he  never  remembered  to  have  smelt,  either 
in  the  palace  of  the  king,  or  in  Syria  with  all  its  aromatic  herbs." 


396      HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ENGLISH. 

Quid  plura  f  What  more  was  needed  for  a  convent  of  burnt- 
out  monks  ?  St.  Waltheof  was  translated  in  state  to  the  side 
of  St.  Guthlac ;  and  the  news  of  this  translation  of  the  holy 
martyr  being  spread  throughout  the  country,  multitudes  of  the 
faithful  flocked  daily  to  the  tomb,  and  offering  up  their  vows 
there,  tended  in  a  great  degree  "  to  resuscitate  our  monastery." 

But  more.  The  virtues  of  St.  Waltheof  were  too  great  not 
to  turn  themselves,  or  be  turned,  to  some  practical  use.  So  if 
not  in  the  days  of  Ingulf,  at  least  in  those  of  Abbot  Joffrid  who 
came  after  him,  St.  Waltheof  began,  says  Peter  of  Blois,  to 
work  wonderful  deeds,  "  The  blind  received  their  sight,  the 
deaf  their  hearing,  the  lame  their  power  of  walking,  and  the ' 
dumb  their  power  of  speech ;  while  each  day  troops  innumerable 
of  other  sick  persons  were  arriving  by  every  road,  as  to  the  very 
fountain  of  their  safety,  .  .  .  and  by  the  offerings  of  the  pilgrims 
who  came  flocking  in  from  every  part,  the  revenues  of  the 
monastery  were  increased  in  no  small  degree." 

Only  one  wicked  Norman  monk  of  St.  Alban's,  Audwin  by 
name,  dared  to  dispute  the  sanctity  of  the  martyr,  calling  him  a 
wicked  traitor  who  had  met  with  his  deserts.  In  vain  did  Abbot 
Joffrid,  himself  a  Norman  from  St.  Evroult,  expostulate  with 
the  inconvenient  blasphemer.  He  launched  out  into  invective 
beyond  measure  ;  till  on  the  spot,  in  presence  of  the  said  father, 
he  was  seized  with  such  a  stomach-ache,  that  he  went  home  to 
St.  Alban's,  and  died  in  a  few  days ;  after  which  all  went  well 
with  Crowland,  and  the  Norman  monks  who  worked  the  English 
martyr  to  get  money  out  of  the  English  whom  they  had  en- 
slaved. 

And  yet,  —  so  strangely  mingled  for  good  and  evil  are  the 
works  of  men,  —  that  lying  brotherhood  of  Crowland  set  up,  in 
those  very  days,  for  pure  love  of  learning  and  of  teaching  learn- 
ing, a  little  school  of  letters  in  a  poor  town  hard  by,  which  be- 
came, under  their  auspices,  the  Univereity  of  Cambridge. 

So  the  *bells  of  Crowland  were  restored,  more  tnelodious  than 
ever ;  and  Richard  of  Rulos  doubtless  had  his  share  in  their 
restoration.  And  that  day  they  were  ringing  with  a  will,  and 
for  a  good  reason  ;  for  that  day  had  come  the  news,  that  Henry 
Plantagenet  was  crowned  king  of  England. 

"  '  Lord,'  "  said  the  good  old  knight,  " '  now  lettest  thou  thy  ser- 
vant depart  in  peace.'  This  day,  at  last,  he  sees  an  English  king 
head  the  English  people." 

"  God  grant,"  said  the  old  lady,  "  that  he  may  be  such  a  lord 
to  England  as  thou  hast  been  to  Bourne." 

"  If  he  will  be,  —  and  better  far  will  he  be,  by  God's  grace, 
from  what  I  hear  of  him,  than  ever  I  have  been,  —  he  must 


HEREWARD,  THE  LAST  OP  THE  ENGLISH.  397 

leam  that  which  I  learnt  from  thee,  —  to  understand  these  Eng- 
lishmen, and  know  what  stout  and  trusty  prudhommes  they  are 
all,  down  to  the  meanest  serf,  when  once  one  can  humor  their 
sturdy  independent  tempers." 

"  And  he  must  learn,  too,  the  lesson  which  thou  didst  teach  me, 
when  I  would  have  had  thee,  in  the  pride  of  youth,  put  on  the 
magic  armor  of  my  ancestors,  and  win  me  fame  in  every  tourna- 
ment and  battle-field.  Blessed  be  the  day  when  Richard  of 
Rulos  said  to  me,  '  If  others  dare  to  be  men  of  war,  I  dare  more ; 
for  I  dare  to  be  a  man  of  peace.  Have  patience  with  me,  and  I 
will  win  for  thee  and  for  myself  a  renown  more  lasting,  before 
God  and  man,  than  ever  was  won  with  lance  I '  Do  you  remem- 
ber those  words,  Richard  mine  ?  " 

The  old  man  leant  his  head  upon  his  hands.  "  It  may  be  that 
not  those  words,  but  the  deeds  which  God  has  caused  to  follow 
them,  may,  by  Christ's  merits,  bring  us  a  short  purgatory  and  a 
long  heaven." 

"  Amen,  Only  whatever  grief  we  may  endure  in  the  next 
life  for  our  sins,  may  we  endure  it  as  we  have  the  griefs  of  this 
life,  hand  in  hand." 

"  Amen,  Torfrida.  There  is  one  thing  more  to  do  before  wo 
die.  The  tomb  in  Crowland.  Ever  since  the  fire  blackened  it, 
it  has  seemed  to  me  too  poor  and  mean  to  cover  the  dust  which 
once  held  two  such  noble  souls.  Let  us  send  over  to  Normandy 
for  fair  white  stone  of  Caen,  and  let  carve  a  tomb  worthy  of  thy 
grandparents." 

"  And  what  shall  we  write  thereon  ?  " 

"  What  but  that  which  is  there  already  ?  *  Here  lies  the  last 
of  the  English.' " 

"  Not  so-  We  will  write,  —  *  Here  lies  the  last  of  the  old 
English.'  But  upon  thy  tomb,  when  thy  time  comes,  the  monks 
of  Crowland  shall  write,  —  *  Here  lies  the  first  of  the  new  Eng- 
lish ;  who,  by  the  inspiration  of  God,  began  to  drain  the  Fens.' " 

EXPLICIT. 


Cambridge  :  Stereotyped  and  Printed  by  W«lcl>>  Bigelovir,  &  Ca 


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